The Shootout  part 2
by Kirsty Welsh
Summary: Taking the story from where the episode left off in the restaurant. With Starsky already in difficulties, surely things couldn't get worse? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**The Shootout – Part 2. By Kirsty Welsh and Brook**

**Disclaimer. We don't own them (although we wish we did) and unfortunately we don't make money from them (although that would be so nice).**

The last echoes of the gunshots died away, and David Starsky flinched at the noise, sending a new wave of nausea through his guts. What had happened? Had Hutch fired or had Joey taken the blond cop out? Did the gun behave? Starsky knew his partner's aim was as good as his, but the gun was old, it was a weapon Hutch had never fired…..and the flaxen haired cop was stressed to the hilt. An hour of being threatened with death, and watching Starsky slowly bleed out was not conducive to Hutch being on his best game, but the blond was handling it admirably, as always.

Starsky sat on the floor of the small room, propped up against the old sofa, his left arm dangling uselessly. The stupid remark about Hutch's teeth swam around in his head. What the hell made him say that? Loss of blood, or just the brunet's crazy attempt at lightening what was surely a heavy moment? Whatever the reason, as soon as Starsky had said it, he regretted it. He wanted his last words to his partner to have more meaning than a comment about Hutch's dental state, but that was how they'd always been. Whatever either of them said with words, it was the look on their faces, or deep behind the eyes that held their true message, and Starsky knew deep down that Hutch had understood. 'See ya' translated in "partner speak" to 'For gods sake be careful out there, I couldn't handle a new partner, you mean too much to me'. It was soapy, but it was true, and both men knew it. The curly haired cop sighed shallowly and waited.

He was tired beyond belief and cold…and oddly hungry, but his overriding feeling was one of being completely useless to his partner. Hutch had had to go back out there into the restaurant and deal with the madman Joey and his gangster boss Max Durnat on his own whilst Starsky had done nothing more than get himself shot to ribbons. The wound on his head gave him a powerful headache and some double vision, but it was the icy numbness in his left shoulder and chest that worried Dave Starsky more. That, and the fact that he could no longer feel his left hand.

Idly he mused about their situation. A night out after a tough interview. Nothing sinister in that, huh?

'_You hungry?'_

'_I could scramble us some eggs.'_

'_I need supper, not breakfast. What about Italian? I know this great little place…..'_

And so it had started. Just two guys winding down after a day at the office, enjoying a late night supper…..and getting caught in the crossfire between Vic Monty and Max Durnat. Talk about the wrong time and the wrong place! Not that either of the two detectives had particularly liked Vic Monty, Durnat's target, but it wasn't good for business to have a prime gangland boss killed in the middle of his linguini with clams whilst Bay City's two finest cops enjoyed their vino de cassa a couple of tables away. The cops also didn't tale kindly to Theresa, the waitress being blackmailed into setting up the heist, but that was another story. At least the brunette waitress was helping Hutch as much as she could now. She'd held Starsky's hand whilst Hutch tried to reason with Joey and stop the young thug trying to put Starsky "out of his misery". She'd got the gun for Hutch and now it sounded like she'd thrown something that sounded like a metal tray right before the gun shots. Starsky hoped against hope that his partner had gotten off the first round.

Starsky sighed and shifted against the cushions Hutch had stuffed behind his head. That man was such a mother hen! The wound didn't even hurt now. The initial burning pain in his back and head had slowly receded until nothing remained of it at all other than an icy feeling across his chest and back. He felt cold and detached, but not uncomfortable. Maybe Hutch was wrong about the wound. Maybe his partner had exaggerated his injuries so that Durnat would leave him alone. Maybe after all this was over he and Hutch could sit down to their veal picada with Theresa…..maybe get her number…so long as Hutch had made it.

The curly haired cop berated himself. He made it. Hutch had to have made it because Starsky couldn't think of him any other way. The "boy next door" smile, the slight stammer when he was stressed, the endearing clumsiness when he was uncomfortable –they were all pure Hutch and a big part of Starsky's life. His partner had to live. Hutch had to….

There was a movement at the door and Starsky flinched before a tired, tight, familiar voice mumbled 'It's over partner' and Hutch dropped wearily to the floor next to Starsky, his hand on the brunet's left shoulder. Starsky forced his eyelids open and managed a weak smile at the blond. The emotion of the moment threatened to overtake him, relief flooding his system like a tidal wave. Starsky lifted his head, ignoring the world swimming around him and forced himself to say something.

'I'm hungry' he whispered.

Hutch took a fresh look at his buddy. Starsky's skin was pale, almost grey and there was a blue tinge around his lips and beneath his eyes. A pale sheen of sweat bloomed over Starsky's brow and cheeks and dampened his curls so that they sat flat against his forehead. But it was the look in the eyes that alerted Hutch to just how sick his partner was. The eyes are the window to the soul. That was especially true of the brunet. Starsky could hide most things from Hutch, but one look into the inky, indigo depths made the blond cop's stomach flip. There was a glassiness to those eyes now – a far away look even though Starsky had fixed Hutch with his gaze as though his life depended on it.

Taking Starsky's left hand in his, Hutch smoothed the curls back from the sweat soaked forehead.

'Now will ya have scrambled eggs?' he asked gently.

'Uh huh. With black pepper and Tabasco and….. god I feel sick.' Starsky's eyes started to close and his head fell forwards.

'Stay with me buddy. Starsk, stay with me. No sleepin' on the job huh?'

'Tired…'

'I know. I know you are, but I need you to stay awake till the medics get here.'

'You do?' Starsky mumbled wearily.

'Yeah, just keep talkin' to me partner.'

Hutch looked up as Theresa stood by the doorway looking at the two men. 'Where's the damned ambulance?' he hissed.

'They said they were on their way. Is he ok?'

Hutch stood stiffly. 'He's lost a lot of blood. He's cold, he can't feel anything on his left side and he's goin' into shock. How d'ya think he's doin'?' the cop asked bitterly.

Theresa looked at the floor. 'I'm so sorry. It was never meant to be like this. They forced me. They ….'

'Yeah, I know. They blackmailed you. Maybe next time you won't be so hung up on revenge huh? Coz this is what happens.'

The woman looked up. 'You don't understand' she started.

Hutch's patience finally snapped. 'Listen lady, I understand plenty. So does my partner. He's paid the price for your fuckin' squabbles and now he's d d dyin'.' Hutch was stopped in his tracks by a muffled thud behind him and whirled around to see that Starsky had given up the unequal fight with gravity and his body had toppled sideways so that he lay, semi-unconscious on the floor. Ignoring the woman, Hutch sank to his knees, lifting Starsky's head until he could settle it in his lap.

'Starsk? Starsky, open your eyes buddy. C'mon, I need to see those beautiful blues. STARSK!' Hutch's voice cracked with the strain. How could he have come this far just to have his partner taken away from him at the last moment?

Starsky heard his buddy's voice as if from a great distance away. He seemed to be underwater, his vision blurred, his hearing faulty and it was tough to breathe as the icy cold spread through his chest. He heard Hutch's voice and decided the blond seemed pissed…..and maybe just a little bit scared and with a titanic effort, Starsky forced his eyes open.

'M'here' he whispered.

'Yeah, you are. Stay with me buddy. Don't go to sleep. Not for a while yet huh? Wait till the medics get here.'

'Tired.' The voice was little more than a murmur.

'I know. I know you are, but you wouldn't want to leave your old buddy on his own would ya? See, Theresa's here. She wants you to stay awake too.'

'S'cold.' Starsky's body shook uncontrollably and his face creased in pain. A flash of lightening lit up the room, illuminating the brunet's face and making his pale skin seem white and translucent.

Hutch looked up at the girl. 'Get some more cloths…..coats…..anythin' huh? Anythin' to keep him warm. Please?'

The look of blind panic in the face that had remained so calm throughout the ordeal sent Theresa scurrying away to find more covers. Outside Hutch could hear the voices of the other clients of the restaurant. The woman who had screamed so loud when she came into the place was now sobbing uncontrollably and there were other male voices in the background. And yet no-one had come into the back room to see how he and Starsky were faring.

Hutch turned his attention back to his partner. In the quiet of the room, Starsky's shivering was slowing. The brunet's eyes were closed, dark circles highlighting an otherwise colourless face. Starsky let out one, long sigh and his body relaxed totally.

Hutch flinched. 'You still with me Starsk?' he asked softly but urgently. There was no answer and with his heart thumping in his throat Hutch reached out and put a trembling hand on Starsky's carotid artery feeling for any signs of life in his buddy's neck. For an eternity his questing fingers felt nothing beneath the cold, clammy skin, and then…. The beat was there but slow and stuttering and Hutch's hand came back covered with blood. The mass of cloths that he'd pushed against Starsky's back were soaked in scarlet fluid and the blood still steadily seeped onto the ground. The blond cop might have dropped out of medical school but he knew enough to realise that Starsky's life now hung by a thread. The body of a healthy male holds between 8 and 10 pints of blood. It seemed that most of it was spilled onto the floor of Theresa Defusto's back room and Hutch felt sick. Just how much could a man lose before he reached the point of no return? Had Starsky got there yet? They'd been together as a duo for maybe four years and had trained at the Academy together first. Starsky made Detective before Hutch, who took a short course in forensics, thinking he could meld cop and doctor but the blond soon realised he needed more action and less books. He joined Dobey's team eight months after Starsky and within days the two were partnered together. From then, as they say, Hutch never looked back. They were the perfect team. They watched each other's backs, they slept at each other's house…..hell, they'd even shared each other's girlfriends. They were more than partners and Hutch couldn't quite differentiate where work finished and friendship began. What had started off as a liking for Starsky had grown into (dare he say it?) love for the roguish New Yorker and if that was sappy, then so be it. The question remained, could Hutch ever live without Starsky. The answer was a firm no.

Hutch rested his hand gently on Starsky's shoulder. 'Don't leave me partner. Ya got your linguini and clams to finish yet. Maybe some ice cream afterwards. Maybe a little Theresa after that huh? Ya can't miss out on the chicks. Wake up for me Starsk. Open your eyes and talk to me huh? We got too much to do for ya to be sleepin' on the job. We should give up this crazy game. We should maybe …. I got it! We can be a double act! Abbot and Costello, Laurel and Hardy and Starsky and Hutch. Sounds great huh? No more bloody flakes; no more guns and bullets; no more madmen wantin' revenge. Just me and you enjoyin' life. Make 'em laugh. Ya hear me Starsk?'

Slowly Hutch lost his hold on reality. All that meant anything to him was right here on his lap. The past hour faded into insignificance until he was focussed solely on the body laid across his legs. Around him, he was hardly aware of the door opening and the uniformed cops coming in. Parkinson and Rayton peeped around the doorway.

'Hutch? How's Starsk?' Parkinson asked quietly.

Hutch stared fixedly at his partner and Rayton came to hunker down beside the two detectives.

'Hutch? Ken? The ambulance is here. Let 'em do their work huh?'

Again there was no response and Parkinson stood to one side to allow the medics to come in. He shook his head at the lead medic. With Hutch in such a state and Starsky still and pale on the floor, the cop could only think the worst. The medic nodded and walked over to the two men.

'Detective?' he said softly.

'His name's Hutchinson but we all call him Hutch. His partner is Starsky. David Starsky. We got a call to say there had been a shootout here. Looks like Starsky took a bullet' Parkinson explained. 'Is he….'

The medic looked up. 'Don't know yet. Go and see to the crowd outside huh? We'll do what we need to.'

Parkinson nodded. 'Be careful huh? They're….we all like 'em Doc.'

The doctor nodded absently, his practiced eye already assessing the situation. Whilst the dark haired man was well out of it, the blond one was still and silent. Shock was taking over and Hutch was allowing it. The past hour had been the toughest in his life and the stress of keeping the clients of the restaurant safe as well as worrying about his partner had finally got to the blond. He was a strong man, both physically and mentally, but having gone through the heist and having watched helplessly as Starsky slowly bled to death had taken their toll and as the paramedic knelt by the side of the two men, Hutch seemed lost in a world of his own, rocking slowly backwards and forwards whilst his hand clamped tightly around Starsky's. He continued to whisper to Starsky, soft and low but his eyes were glassy and his skin pale grey and clammy. Even when the medics spoke to him and tried to get to their other patient, Hutch remained focussed only on Starsky, frozen in place.

The doctor looked up at his own partner. 'One guy bleeding out. This one's in shock. Gimme a shot of sedative then we can get to work.' The second medic hurried to his task and medic one turned back to Hutch, gently laying his hands over Hutch's.

'Sir? Detective?...'

'Hutch. His name is Hutch' Theresa said, from the doorway.

'Ok. Hutch? Can you hear me? My name is John. I'm a doctor and I need to get to your pal here. Will you let me?'

Hutch stayed where he was, as though he hadn't heard. John tried again but got no response.

'Hutch, I'm gonna give you something to help you relax buddy. You need to rest. Is that ok? It'll make you feel better.'

'Starsk?' Hutch whispered.

'We're gonna take good care of him. We'll make sure he's ok. Will you let me give you this? Just a little scratch coming up.'

Hutch made no move as John gently rolled up his sleeve, swabbed a square on his upper arm and gently sunk the needle in. It was a mark of just how bad Hutch was that he allowed the injection – his experiences with needles and drugs had not been the best. But the powerful drug did its work and within a minute Hutch's rigid body relaxed, his hand loosened its death grip on Starsky's and the big blond cop sagged back against John's side. Carefully, the two medics extricated Hutch from Starsky's side, loaded the blond onto one stretcher and Starsky onto a second and made their way out to the waiting ambulance. With sirens blaring and lights flashing, they made a swift getaway and headed immediately for County General. As the ambulance passed the alleyway a few yards away from the restaurant, the man sitting in the back of the dark coloured Caddy leaned forwards and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

'Follow them. I want to find out who those two cops are.'

'Sure thing Mr Monty. Ya gonna waste 'em?'

The man in the back snorted. 'Waste them? Why would I do that? They saved my life back there. But I need some facts and somehow I don't think Theresa is going to be very forthcoming. I'm between a rock and a hard place Tommy. I would have just had Theresa wasted but now….. She'll have told those two cops everything, or if she hasn't already, it'll come out soon enough. But it isn't important now. She's a bit player in all of this. They got Durnat and probably that cretin Joey too. We need to find out whether either of them survived, because if Max Durnat lives, he's going to be mighty pissed at me.

'You want me to lean on 'em Mr Monty?' Tommy's eyes reflected in the rear view mirror showing excitement.

Victor Monty sighed heavily. 'Why does everything come down to violence with you Tommy? Sometimes I don't know why I keep you around. No, we don't lean on them. Quite the contrary. We bide our time and then we…..we look after them for a while.'

Tommy nodded but his face was blank. Mr Monty always did the unexpected and Tommy could never follow his boss' logic, but things usually worked out anyhow. He looked back through the mirror again.

'Great! Where did you say we were going?'

Monty leaned forwards and cuffed Tommy over the back of the head. 'Follow the ambulance dummy, or do I have to do that myself too?'

Tommy settled down to drive. 'Ambulance, right. I knew that. Why?'

'Tommy, shudup and drive huh? You're making my head ache.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The ambulance in question pulled up five minutes later outside Memorial Hospital and unloaded the two unconscious cops from the back. Whilst Hutch was taken away to a quiet room to get checked over and sleep off the sedative, Starsky's inert body was rushed through the plastic curtains and taken into the ER. It was a hive of activity with doctors poised and already barking orders. The doctor and nurse who had been in the ambulance gave a brief summary of Starsky's injuries and current state and then turned their patient over to the medical team.

Throughout it all, David Starsky was living in a twilight world. He heard, as if from a great distance, Hutch's voice. It had spoken to him for a while, but now it wasn't there any more. It had been replaced by other voices, both male and female and in some dim recess of his mind, Starsky knew he was in a hospital. He wondered where Hutch was and for a moment felt panic flood through him. Had his partner been shot? Was Hutch ok? And then he remembered the soft, anxious voice after the final shots had rung out from the restaurant.

_Stay with me buddy. Don't go to sleep. Not for a while yet huh? Wait till the medics get here.'_

Hutch was ok and Starsky could relax. Except that he wondered what they were going to do to him. Hutch had said he had a bullet in his shoulder, but it felt worse than that. He felt cold, weak, as though he was floating somewhere above his own body, although he'd never believed in that mumbo jumbo. As though through a thick cloth, he could feel hands on his body, pulling and tugging at his clothes. He wanted to tell them to leave him alone. He'd only just broken those jeans in and he didn't want their scissors anywhere near him. He was cold and he needed a blanket…..and maybe a shot of tequila. It was too much effort to speak, however and even too tough to open his eyes. Instead, Starsky's mind started to think back to his last conversation with Hutch. If the blond couldn't be here with him in body, then at least he could think about his partner…..and hope that he was ok.

'_We should be a double act partner. Make 'em laugh. Abbot and Costello, Laurel and Hardy. Starsky and Hutch.'_ Hutch's words echoed around in Starsky's head as the medics worked around him. Someone was talking to him, although he had no inclination to reply.

'David?'

No-one called him David except his Mom and only when she was mad at him. Dave was acceptable. Davey would do at a pinch, but for as long as he could remember he'd been Starsky, plain and simple.

'David, we're going to take you to the OR now. You have a bullet in your back. It's splintered the bone close to your spine and we need to get it out buddy. The doctors are going to do everything they can and we've given you some pain relief. That should be working right now.'

Starsky would have nodded, but the effort was too great. He would also have told them, if his voice had been working, that he felt as though he were floating away and in a way it scared him. He hated not being in control and right now he felt as though he was slipping away, to wherever good little Jewish boys slip. He'd felt the bee sting of a needle in his forearm earlier, and another, sharper pain in the back of his left hand and he guessed they were running some blood into him, but it all seemed so distant. The world was disintegrating into a grey fuzz and with it Starsky's hold on reality.

'_We should be a double act…..make 'em laugh…..'_

As the gurney started to move, Starsky's mind took him away from the disinfectant smells, the murmurs and barked instructions and the icy cold and clung to his partner's last words.

_Hutch's house by the canal was lit up like a Christmas tree, the soft, mellow lights from inside illuminating the white picket fence around the yard. Inside, friends sat around, drinking wine and waiting whilst_ _somewhere out_ _back, in Hutch's bedroom, he was getting ready. Huggy's voice, impressive when he needed it to be suddenly announced "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. To answer the many thousands of inquiries as to what Detective David Michael Starsky has been doing in his off time while recovering from his gunshot injury, I now present the latest graduates in the Sammy Grosvenor school of hilarious humour, Starsky and Hutch"_

'_This is it partner. Are we ready?' Starsky checked himself one last time in the mirror as Hutch stood behind him. The top hat nestled atop brunet curls and balanced precariously, the tail coat was incongruous against the faded blue jeans and white shirt and the cane added to the chaos, especially as it kept getting tangled with the sling supporting his left arm. And yet Dave Starsky had never felt more alive. This was it! This was the beginning of his and Hutch's new career. They'd been offered jobs all over America. Tomorrow night they started their gig on the strip in Vegas, then came New York and finally Washington for the President's birthday bash. They were never going to look back, their police careers a thing of distant memories. Their biggest fan was one Harold Dobey, who had also retired from the police to act as their manager…..and lead groupy. _

_Behind Starsky, Hutch, dressed in striped jacket and straw boater smiled radiantly, showing a beautiful set of newly capped teeth. In truth, he seemed to look more like a set of piano keys had been inserted into his mouth, but the reward money Vic Monty had generously given for saving his life had been put to good use and Hutch's dentist was happy._

_The two men rushed into the living room, Starsky in full cry even as they got through the door. Together they stood facing their audience._

'_Hello hello hello. I got a dog with no nose' Starsky intoned._

'_Really? How does he smell?' Hutch asked innocently._

'_Terrrrrrible.' Starsky looked expectantly at the audience. There was silence but it didn't matter. He ploughed on headlong into the next gag._

'_Hello, hello hello. Did you hear about the woman who died taking a milk bath?'_

'_No, what happened?'_

'_Cow slipped, fell on her head.' Again there was a rousing chorus of silence and Hutch fumbled uncomfortably with the corner of his jacket. 'Well. Do I hear music?' he asked._

'_Music? No, that's just the mice' Starsky replied, still in character_

'_Mice can't play music, dummy!'_

'_No? You never heard of a mice….stro?'_

_By now the audience was looking distinctly ugly and the two wannabe funny men backtracked into Hutch's bedroom to regroup._

'_We're knocking 'em dead' Starsky said, knowing that he could still win them around. He started to get changed, stripping off his tail coat. A blue and white striped jacket and a matching straw boater replaced his former costume and as Hutch headed back out, Starsky paused for a moment to look in the mirror. "We're knocking 'em dead Davey boy" he muttered to himself. "We're knocking 'em dead". In his head, he could already hear the screams of laughter from the audience in Vegas. He could feel the President's hand in his at the birthday celebrations, he could see his and Hutch's names up in neon on Broadway and he knew they'd made the right decision. Opening the door to the living room, Starsky bustled through and was already half way through his second routine. The audience were going crazy, they laughed, applauded, screamed for more and he and Hutch took curtain call after curtain call. They loved him….they loved the double act. They were going to be famous…_

'David. Open your eyes for me. It's all over now. We need you to open your eyes.'

What the hell was the audience asking for now? They had no right to tell him what to do! 'Autographs later' Starsky mumbled indistinctly and struggled to open his eyes for a brief moment. He felt heavy and lethargic and knew it must be the after effects of the show, but as he looked up he saw bright lights and a pair of concerned eyes, bright above a surgical mask.

'It's all over David. We're going to take you up to your room now' the nurse said quietly.

And with that one sentence, reality kicked in once again, along with pain and a hefty dose of nausea. Dave Starsky was once more in the land of the living.

Bright lights were also piercing through the mist that seemed to have settled over Hutch's eyes. For a moment he thought he was on a beach somewhere. He felt warm and languorous and relaxed and it took all of his willpower to decide to open his eyes. Why should he? He was tired and he deserved a rest! He'd worked overtime and the pillow his head rested on was fluffy and soft, the sheets and blankets cozy. The bed seemed to be wrapping its legs around him and murmuring "don't go Hutch….don't go" and for a moment he considered following its advice.

Then the noises kicked in. There were voices around him, loud enough to wake him and yet far enough away that he didn't feel anyone's presence leaning in on him. Hutch considered for a moment. Just where the hell was he? Where had Theresa gone? And Max Durnat.

Reality kicked in and Hutch sat bolt upright in bed. Starsky! Where the hell was his partner? And more to the point, what was he, Hutch, doing on a hospital bed dressed in borrowed white scrubs with…..what the ff… a drip in the back of his hand!

'Nurse!' Hutch shouted, already pulling at the tape holding the needle in place. 'Nurse! Doc?'

A concerned older woman appeared at the door of his small room. 'Ah, you're awake. Good. How are you feeling now?' She walked into the room and gently pushed Hutch back down onto the bed.

'I'm fine. Where's my partner? Starsky. Dave Starsky. We were in a a a restaurant….a sh shoot….' Hutch took a deep breath, got his thoughts in order and started again. 'My partner and I were involved in a shooting incident down town. He was badly injured. Somehow I've ended up here. Do you know where he is?'

'He's recovering in his room right now. It's just next door Sergeant. Don't you want to know how you are?'

Hutch wrinkled his brow. 'Me? I'm f fine. I mean I f feel f fine. Just a headache and….'

The woman smiled. She was older, but attractive. Handsome rather than pretty and with a distinctly motherly approach to her patients. 'Let's start again, shall we? I'm Elsa Martin, your doctor. You were both brought here to Memorial Hospital about ten hours ago and Sergeant Starsky was taken straight into the OR. He's doing fine, although he's going to be here for a while yet. You, young man, were suffering from shock and the medic at the restaurant had to sedate you. You've been sleeping it off since but other than needing fluids, hence the drip, you'll be fine. Maybe a little shaky for a couple of days, but fine nonetheless.'

'And Starsk? Can I see him?'

'Sergeant Starsky appears to have had the thin edge of the wedge. There was a bullet wound to his left temple which may, or may not result in some minor memory impairment in the short term. He also had the bullet lodged in his left upper back. That's been surgically removed. It damaged some of the bone in his ribs and there was one piece that came perilously close to his spine. The surgeons tell me they've successfully removed it, but out of an abundance of caution he will need to lie flat on his back for the next four or five days.'

'But he'll be ok?' Hutch asked.

'He should be just fine. He lost a vast amount of blood but he would have been far worse if you hadn't been able to care for him during your ordeal. He's going to be weak for a while, but…'

'So can I see him?' Hutch persisted.

'You need your rest too. You've been through a hell of an ordeal' the doctor said doubtfully.

'I'm fine, honest. Or I will be when I see Starsk. Please Doc. I promise I won't disturb him and I'll rest, but I just need to see him huh?'

'I'll get one of the nurses to bring around a wheelchair.'

'I can walk, I'm not an invalid' Hutch muttered, struggling to get off the bed. Elsa held him down with a practiced hand.

'The deal is a wheelchair or nothing' she said sternly, fixing Hutch with a steely eye.

The blond man relaxed marginally. 'If you ever get sick of bein' a doctor, you'd be great in the IA' he muttered. 'Bring on the wheels.'

The doctor grinned and left, leaving Hutch alone with his thoughts. Now that Elsa had explained what had happened, Hutch was beginning to remember those last few minutes back at the restaurant. Starsky had looked so sick; so fragile that he really had thought that the ambulance would get there too late. To have the medic say that his partner was going to be ok was like all Hutch's birthdays had come at once and relief flooded through him making him feel a little light headed. A nurse appeared at the door with a wheelchair and solicitously helped the blond cop into it, hooking Hutch's drip onto the tall stand attached to the frame. She wheeled the impatient man through the door and into the next door room, parking Hutch close to the side of the bed. She patted Hutch's shoulder.

'He's been awake and he's been asking for you. Don't tire him, and don't get tired yourself. He's got a lot of healing to do. Buzz when you want to go back to your room.'

Hutch nodded, not really listening to the words. The room was dim and cool, the blinds pulled down over the window filtering out the bright afternoon sun casting zebra stripes across Starsky's bed. The brunet lay still, a clear drip feeding into the crook of his right elbow whilst another drip fed deep maroon blood into the back of his right hand. The left side of the smaller man's body was swathed in white bandages as his left arm was strapped across his chest, supporting the wound. Starsky's face was still pale, but the blue had gone from his lips and under his eyes and his breathing was easier. Hutch eased himself out of his chair and bent over the bed.

'Starsk?' he whispered.

One eye fluttered open.

'Hey, Starsk.'

The other eye opened too and Starsky looked up into Hutch's face, his eyes fluttering before they focussed.

'Heyyy' he croaked hoarsely.

'Hey yourself. How're ya doin' there partner?'

'Crap. Where's the bad guys? Did we get 'em?'

'We got 'em. Captain Marvel came through in the end. Joey's lying somewhere on a coroner's slab and Durnat has a shoulder wound' Hutch explained.

Starsky's eyelids drooped as he listened to Hutch's voice. Everything was ok again. Hutch had survived the shootout and that was all that mattered. 'Shoulder huh? Just like me' he mumbled and tried to reach for his left shoulder with his right hand. The movement was difficult and clumsy and brought a spasm of pain that creased his forehead and narrowed his eyes. 'Oh Jeez!'

Hutch reached for Starsky's hand and held it down, rubbing small circles on the back of it as the brunet took a faltering, shaky breath. Up until now, Starsky had thought that he'd had maybe a flesh wound, nothing more and he'd convinced himself that he would be up and about in a couple of days. What the hell was this all about?

Hutch was speaking to him, his voice low enough that Starsky had to concentrate on the words and not on his pain. 'Lie still buddy. The Doc says you have to lie still for a while. You got a lot of healing to do.'

Starsky rolled his head on the pillow so that he could see his partner. 'S only a shoulder wound.'

Hutch sighed and leaned more closely on the bed. 'Yeah well. I um….I kinda lied back there.'

The brunet's eyes shot open for a moment. 'Ya did huh?'

'What did you want me to say? "Oh shit Starsky old man, I think you're gonna die?" Somehow that didn't seem to be the right approach.'

'You could've mentioned….'

Hutch snickered. 'So sue me! I didn't lie. I just omitted some of the truth.'

Starsky fixed his buddy with a steely eye. 'How much of the truth?'

'Well…. The bullet splintered a small part of your shoulder blade at the back on its way out. The Doctors cleaned out the wound but there was a mess of bone to deal with. They want you to lie still for a little while just to make sure they um….. Now don't panic about this but…. Well just to make sure there was no damage to your spine.'

'Spine! Fuck! You're a rat, you know that Hutchins….' Starsky's words were cut off by another paroxysm of pain that bowed his spine and had him clutching in mid air for Hutch's hand. Hutch grabbed the hand and with his other pressed the call button and a moment later a nurse appeared at the door.

'He's in a hell of a lot of pain. Can't ya do something?' the blond hissed. The woman nodded and disappeared and Hutch turned his attention back to his partner. 'Breathe buddy. Just breathe through it' he said gently, kicking the wheelchair out of the way so that he could reach Starsky better. Hutch laid a hand in Starsky's right hand and the brunet squeezed hard, panting through the worst of it. As it subsided, his eyes opened again.

'When I get a hold of Durnat I'm gonna rip him limb from limb' he hissed. 'He's gonna wish he'd never even heard of penne pasta and….. Jesus Christ it hurts.'

'I know. They're bringing you something to help. See, the Doc is here now.'

And indeed Elsa was already walking towards the bed, a syringe in her hand. Expertly she expelled the air from the needle and stuck it into the muscle of Starsky's right arm. 'David, this is morphine. It's going make you feel woozy and tired but it's a powerful pain killer and you're going to feel a lot more comfortable. We need you to lay still for a while, at least until the wound from your operation settles down. That means very still, ok? We want you to lay on your back for a few days. If you need anything, the nurses will get it for you, but we don't want anything going wrong, do we?'

Starsky was already feeling the effects of the powerful drug. The pain was already receding. It wasn't gone, but somehow it didn't seem to matter any more. He was cushioned on a cloud of opiates and his eyes were getting heavy. 'Wrong? As in…..?'

'We can discuss all that later. Right now I want you to sleep and recover. There'll be plenty of time for us to talk later. Are you feeling easier?'

Starsky nodded shakily. 'Thanks' he managed to breathe before his eyes fluttered closed and sleep overtook him and his body relaxed back against the mattress. Elsa turned her attention to Hutch.

'And you, young man, should be resting. If you're a good boy, I may let you home at the end of the day.'

Hutch looked past the woman to his partner. Starsky certainly looked a lot more relaxed now that the morphine was working and yet the blond was in no rush to leave his partner's side.

'I'd rather stay here for a while. I won't disturb him.'

Elsa snickered. 'With the amount of drugs washing around in his system right now World War Three wouldn't disturb him! It's you I'm more concerned about.'

Hutch wrinkled his forehead. 'Me? I'm fine.'

'Hmm, who's the doctor here? When you were brought in the medics said you'd been almost catatonic at the restaurant. You were in shock, and whether you believe it or not, you still are. You need rest Ken and if you don't rest voluntarily….' The woman grinned and brandished the empty syringe. 'I have plenty more where this came from.'

Hutch held his hands up in mock surrender. 'Ok, ok. I get the picture. I'll be a good boy and go and sleep. But when he wakes up, will someone come and tell me?'

Elsa ushered Hutch out of the room. 'I promise. Now go and lie down and go to sleep. That's the best thing for you right now. David is going to need some help when he's out and about. It won't do him any good if his best friend is still a shaky wreck


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Three days later.**

Hutch roused himself groggily from his dream of a beautiful blond giving him a deep and very intimate massage. He was almost angry at the interruption. The blond of his dreams had smiled at him and wet her lips, bending her head down to his body in preparation when something had stopped her, the dream had faded away into nothing and Hutch was left with an empty feeling and a "morning glory" that made his lower body ache.

With a grunt the flaxen haired cop paused a minute, regrouping his thoughts and it was only at that point that the phone rang again and Hutch realised that it was the bell that had woken him. He made an uncoordinated grab for the phone and took a hold of the receiver as the body of the instrument fell to the floor.

'Hutchinson' Hutch snapped.

'Hutch? It's Marie, the ward sister at Memorial. Elsa asked me to phone.'

Fear gripped at Hutch like an ice cold hand around his chest. 'Starsky? What's happened.'

'He's spiked a fever. He wasn't looking too good this evening just after you left, but he told us he was fine.'

'Yeah, that sounds about right. You promised him he could come home in a few days so he wasn't gonna let on that he felt bad. How is he?'

'He's um…we're fighting the temperature spikes and he's been given a lot more pain meds but he's delirious…and he keeps calling for you.'

Hutch swung his legs over the side of the bed. 'I'm on my way.'

'There's not a lot you can do here Hutch, but Elsa thought it may just help him rest if you could come sit with him for a while.'

'I'll be there in maybe 15 minutes. Tell him I'm on my way.' Hutch put the phone down and scrubbed his hands along his jaw and through his flaxen bangs. He knew something had been wrong for a while now. That first day Starsky had been so wracked with pain that the doctor had kept him well and truly out of it, and the brunet had been on morphine ever since so that Starsky's eyes were constantly cloudy and dull and he felt sick a lot of the time. Not that that stopped the curly haired cop from wanting to come home. Nothing could do that. Starsky hated hospitals like a cat hates water. He hated the feeling of not being in control and he'd bucked all the odds by sitting up that afternoon for the first time, despite the surgeons expecting him to be flat on his back for a week at least.

Hutch had been there when Elsa slowly raised the head of the bed. He'd watched the colour drain from Starsky's face as the bed rose higher and he'd seen the brunet ball his hands into fists when the pain got bad, and yet Starsky had told everyone that he was fine and glad to be sitting up and no, he didn't want to lie back down again. Elsa hadn't been fooled however, and had pushed another dose of pain killer into the cannula in the back of Starsky's hand. Hutch had stayed whilst Starsky had slept and when his partner had woken again, Hutch had noticed a bloom of pink across Starsky's cheeks. He'd asked if his buddy was ok and Starsky had quite obviously lied and said he was just peachy and considering a jog around the ward. The joke was meant to allay Hutch's fears, but on the contrary, Hutch knew that when Starsky joked like that, it usually meant that the brunet was worse than he wanted to let on. Hutch had tried to stay past the end of visiting time, in fact the nurses were getting used to the two men sitting quietly together in the room. The blond cop didn't get in the way and Starsky seemed to respond well to Hutch's presence. Elsa also knew that Hutch was getting his rest whilst he was with his partner so she could keep her eye on her two patients together.

Hutch hurried to get dressed. Never the height of sartorial elegance, tonight the blond snatched the nearest pair of pants – some soft pale brown cords with worn knees and a dark green tee shirt. There was no need for gun, or shield and within minutes, he was grabbing his jacket and car keys and heading down his path and out to his car.

The drive over to Memorial seemed to take an age, although Hutch pushed his old brown beater hard. He considered slapping the mars light on the roof and running the traffic signals, but decided against it. Starsky was important to him, but so was his job and using the sirens inappropriately would get him a lot of grief from Dobey. Instead, he drove as fast as he could and finally pulled into the almost deserted parking lot with a sigh of relief. Hutch hurried into the big building and stood tapping his foot whilst the elevator car took him up to the third floor. He got out and walked quickly along the long corridor and through the swing doors onto Starsky's ward. It was dimly lit at this time of night, with that hushed sound of people trying to work quietly and yet not quite succeeding. Hutch hated hospitals almost as much as his partner and the blond's nose wrinkled at the acrid smell of antiseptic and disinfectant. He paused at the door to Starsky's room, his hand on the door handle just as he heard a yell from inside.

'Nooooo!'

The blond pushed into the room just in time to see one of the larger male orderlies trying hard to restrain Starsky whilst at the same time trying not to hurt him. The blond rushed over to the bed and immediately took over, easing Starsky back down. The brunet was surprisingly strong considering the amount of drugs in his system and the injuries he had. He fought Hutch like a madman, his eyes wide and staring although they didn't seem to be able to see anything or anyone around him. Hutch hung on grimly.

'Starsk. Starsky it's me Hutch.'

'Liar! Hutch is dead…..I saw…..let me…..gun…..gotta have my gun.' Starsky mumbled, his free arm still thrashing around.

'I'm here. It's me Hutch. I'm right here buddy, right here. Listen to my voice huh? Listen to me, I'm right here.'

'Fuck you…..I'm gonna…gonna kill ya…..gonna…..'

'Hey! Buddy. It's me Hutch. It's just me and thee huh?'

Starsky paused in his fight against the hands holding him down and his head rolled against the pillow. 'Noo, 's not true. Hutch is dead…..oh god Hutch is…..'

'Starsky open your eyes for me buddy. I'm right here' Hutch said gently. 'I'm right here. Not going anywhere. I'm right here, holding your hand. Do you feel that? Feel my hand?'

Starsky's eyes flashed open for an instant. 'Hand?'

'Yeah, I got ya. I got ya Starsk, just lie back huh? Lie back and rest.'

Slowly the brunet's body relaxed beneath Hutch's hands and the blond looked around at the nurse. 'How long's he been like this?'

'He spiked a temperature just after you left this evening. The doctors have been along to see him. You know what a gunshot wound is like. When the bullet hits the body it takes pieces of clothing through the wound with it. They clean the wound thoroughly but occasionally infection has already set in. In Starsky's case he's had a pretty severe reaction to it.'

'What can we do?' Hutch asked, perching on the edge of the bed as he continued to rub tiny circles on the back of Starsky's hand with his thumb. The brunet seemed quieter, but his body was hot, the skin taut and dry and an angry bloom covered his face.

'We're getting fans to blow over him and we'll be using ice packs to try and drive down his temperature, but until the fever breaks, he's going to be in no man's land, as it were' the nurse explained.

Hutch sighed. 'So what can I do?'

'Be with him. He seems to respond well to you being here. He's quieter already. Just stay with him. Talk to him. He may not answer, but the sound of your voice will get through to him.'

The blond nodded. 'Fine. Go do your stuff huh? I'll stay here. Um…..can you do me one thing? Can you ask someone to ring this number' Hutch fumbled a card out of his pants pocket. 'Ask for Harold Dobey and tell him Starsk isn't doin' too well.'

The nurse nodded. She took the card and left as Hutch looked back down at Starsky. 'What'm I gonna do with you partner? All this because you didn't want scrambled eggs huh? What's wrong with my eggs? It could've been worse! I could've made you drink one of my shakes, or maybe made you a seaweed sandwich. But no, you had to go out. You just had to fill that belly of yours with junk food. Are ya listening to me Starsk?'

The man in the bed trembled. The hand in Hutch's was hot as the desert and dry as a bone. Starsky's head rolled against the pillow and he seemed to be mumbling under his breath and yet Hutch couldn't make out the words. Instead, he continued to talk of anything and everything in a low voice, all the time holding his partner's hand and easing the brunet down when the trembling got bad and Starsky fought off some unseen demon from his nightmares.

Once or twice Starsky called out Hutch's name. At other times he called for his Mom, like a child who'd had a bad dream in the middle of the night. As Hutch continued to hold on, soothing and talking, the nurses worked around the bed. They set up electric fans to blow across Starsky's body and stripped back the sheet to just below his waist, easing the brunet out of his pyjama jacket. They wrapped ice packs in towels and placed them beneath Starsky's arms and sponged his face with cloths soaked in cold water but despite their efforts, the brunet's body continued to overheat as Starsky's mind took him away to the scariest places of his mind.

He dreamed one nightmare after the other as the temperature continued to rise. Pains redoubled their assault on his body and he screamed, clutching at his shoulder as Hutch hung on grimly.

'Isn't there anything else you can do for him?' he snapped as Elsa came into the room.

The doctor looked down at her patient. 'I've got some more pain meds for him, but as for the fever, we're doing everything we can to bring it down.' She slipped the needle into the port on the drip leading into the back of Starsky's right hand and depressed the plunger and within minutes Starsky's body relaxed and his eyes fluttered open, although they were sightless, staring at something in the far corner of the room.

Throughout the night, Hutch sat by Starsky's bedside and watched as his partner struggled against the nightmares and terrors that took him and shook him. As the hours wore on Elsa came back to check on her patient, checking his temperature and checking the wound on Starsky's back. The area around it was hot and swollen and angry looking, the stitches bulging. It was obvious that the brunet's body was fighting a massive infection and yet another drip was added to Starsky's collection, this time with a powerful antibiotic to counteract the infection. By the time dawn was beginning to break over the city, Starsky gave a huge sigh and the first bloom of perspiration started to appear across his brow and cheeks.

As the fever broke, the brunet's body seemed to relax as though it knew that finally it could start to heal itself. Sweat poured off him, soaking the sheets and pillow. Hutch continued to hold tight to his partner's hand as the nurses sponged Starsky, stripping off his sweat soaked pants and replacing the sheets on the bed. Starsky's curls clung to his skull, flattened and dull. The perspiration beaded on the hairs on his chest and trickled down his face to pool in the hollow of his throat and yet the nightmares seemed to have gone and his temperature started to come down from the dizzying heights.

Slowly Hutch began to relax.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

At eight o'clock that next morning, Elsa walked into the room to see Starsky sleeping peacefully with his hand resting on the back of Hutch's neck. The blond cop had fallen asleep at his buddy's bedside, his forehead resting on the mattress and somehow Starsky had known he was there. Quietly Elsa set about checking her patient, unwilling to disturb either man but Hutch awoke quickly, feeling movement around the bed. He sat up with a low groan and rubbed at the back of his neck. For a moment, he looked around him confused and then remembered where he was and sat back to look at Starsky for the first time.

Elsa retrieved the thermometer from under Starsky's arm and held it up to the light to read it.

'Well?' Hutch asked quietly.

Elsa smiled. 'It's still up but at least the mercury isn't trying to blow the top off of the tube now. I think he's over the worst now. The antibiotics are beginning to do their stuff.'

'So he's going to be ok?'

'You really are close, aren't you? I mean we see a lot of cops in here and they mostly have partners who come in with them, stay a while and then go back to work. You two seem….different.'

'As in….?'

The doctor shrugged. 'I don't know, but there's something. You're close. He obviously relies on you and you seem…..'

'S'rude to talk 'bout a guy when he's sleepin'.' Starsky's voice was raw and husky with fever and yet his eyes were open and he was looking at Hutch. The blond smiled.

'Hey there. Welcome back to the land of the living. How're ya feelin' buddy?'

Starsky's eyes closed as he considered. 'Crap' he finally muttered.

Elsa finished writing her findings on the chart and hung it at the end of Starsky's bed. She smiled at her patient. 'Do you have any pain?'

'Uh huh. Hurts' the brunet winced as he tried to move further up the bed. 'Feel like I've done six rounds with Mohammed Ali.'

'That's what comes of fighting with the nurses Pal' Hutch said gently. 'You've been out of it for a few hours.'

'M'tired.'

Elsa nodded. 'I'll get you something for the pain and then the surgeons will want to come and check on you. There's still some question of whether they'll want to reopen the wound to clean out the rest of the infection.'

Starsky rolled his head on the pillow. 'No….no more surgery. S'fine…..just tired. I'm….' The brunet's voice tailed off into silence and sleep overtook him again. Hutch looked up at the doctor.

'They may want to reopen it?'

'If the infection is bad, yes, especially as it's so close to his spine. Even if they don't he's going to be in a huge amount of pain until the infection clears and the swelling goes down.'

The blond man sighed. 'Shit! Can I stay with him? Did you manage to get someone to phone Dobey?'

'Of course you can stay. If you're very unlucky you may even get a hospital breakfast, but don't hold your breath. Your Captain said he'd be here some time this morning. Until then, I think Starsky will sleep for a while. I suggest you might want to do the same.'

Hutch nodded and scrubbed his hands down his face. 'I might just do that. Thanks Doc…..for everything.'

Elsa turned at the door. 'There is just one thing.'

'What?'

The doctor motioned for the tall cop to follow her outside. Hutch closed the door behind him and the sudden noise roused Starsky momentarily from his sleep. He squinted through the darkness at the familiar figure outlined like an oil painting by the frame of the observation window. Hutch's face was serious and as Starsky watched he saw his buddy shake his head and run his hand through his hair. The curly haired cop wanted to ask why Hutch looked so upset but waves of weariness crept over him and sleep once again claimed him so that a blanket of darkness overwhelmed him and his eyes closed once more.

Mid morning saw Hutch's eyes open and the blond cop stretched gingerly as his back told him that his nights of sleeping in chairs were long past. The room was quiet save for the steady, rhythmic breathing of the curly haired patient lying in the bed. Hutch got up softly and stood by the side of his partner, looking down at Starsky. The blond man snickered quietly. 'You are one helluva mess buddy' he whispered, his hand hovering over the fur covered chest. The fans had been switched off and the ice packs had gone, but the nurses had left Starsky's jacket off, preferring to let the air cool him rather than have to disturb him to change yet another set of pyjamas. The heavily bandaged chest rose and fell slowly and deeply and although Starsky's skin was still warm to the touch, the sweat no longer poured off of his body.

Hutch flexed his back muscles and kneaded at the knot of muscle on his left shoulder with his right hand. He was about to reach for a glass of water when he heard a soft knock against the observation window of the room. The flaxen haired man looked up in time to see Harold Dobey hiding behind a huge basket of fruit, tied up with a cellophane ribbon. Hutch joined his captain in the hallway outside the room, leaving the door ajar.

'How's he doin'?' the big black man asked.

'Better. He had a tough night, but he seems like he's restin' easier. The Docs are gonna come around later to see if he…'

Inside the room the waft of cooler air over his naked chest awoke David Starsky from the warm cocoon of his dreams. The night had passed for him in a terror filled conveyor belt of nightmares. All were scary and most were painful and he felt alone and cast adrift on a sea of fear until, around the middle of the night, he dreamed that Hutch had come to see him. He'd been dreaming of the restaurant and once again he'd heard the echo of gunshots ricocheting around the room, but this time, it had been Joey who had come through the door, gun in hand and announced that Hutch was dead. Starsky had done his best to get to his feet, but his body seemed trapped in molasses and he could hardly move. He'd yelled at the black haired flake and had tried uselessly to find his gun and all the time he'd felt more alone than he had ever done in his whole life – more alone even than when his Mom had loaded him onto the Greyhound in New York for his new life in California.

Hutch was gone and he was alone. He'd lost his best friend, his brother, his partner and nothing else mattered except killing Joey. He'd fought long and hard with the man until somehow, he'd heard that soft Mid West voice calling his name and as if from nowhere, Hutch was holding him down and speaking to him, telling him to relax and that everything was going to be ok.

From then on, the pain started to recede. Starsky's fever broke hours later and now he felt tired, but warm and relatively pain free. He opened his eyes, ready to see Hutch by his bed, but instead of looking up into crystal blue eyes, Starsky found his room empty and for a moment fear gripped him again. Had it all been a dream? Was Hutch really dead? And then that whispered voice sounded from out in the corridor and Starsky let his head fall back against the pillow. Hutch was outside talking to Dobey. Things were as they should be. Quietly, the curly haired cop closed his eyes and listened to the hushed conversation.

'….needs more surgery.'

'Why? Didn't they get everything?' Dobey's voice sounded worried.

'It's not that. It's…..' Hutch's voice faltered and he seemed to pause. Suddenly Starsky's attention was focussed on his partner. Something was wrong, somewhere along the line.

'…its just that they needed him to lie still. There were pieces of bone close to his spine and they needed the incisions to heal, but with all the fightin' he did last night…..'

'What're ya trying to say?' Dobey asked.

'They tested his reflexes this morning. His legs and feet are fine and his right hand is workin'. It's his left arm and hand. There's some question of whether he will be able to use his left hand again. Something about nerve damage and….'

Starsky felt a bloom of cold start at his feet and work it's way up his body. His left hand? His dominant hand? Shit! He'd never even thought about that. What would it mean to him if he couldn't use his left hand and arm properly? For a moment he lost himself in thought. He'd always been a lefty and was kinda proud of it. He'd never been able to co-ordinate using his right hand for anything, other than caressing a girl maybe. He wouldn't be able to write, hold a fork…..or hold a gun. Fuck! For a moment panic overtook the brunet and his heart hammered against his rib cage setting up a deep throb of pain from his shoulder. He moaned softly, trying to reach his injured shoulder with his other hand and immediately Hutch was back by his side.

'Hey there, I didn't know you were awake. Take it easy buddy.'

'Why didn't you tell me?' Starsky asked, his voice raw with pain and emotion.

'Tell you what?'

'What you were whisperin' about out there. That I may not be able to use my hand again.'

A shadow of pain fell over Hutch's face. 'That's not certain Starsk. They need to do a while bunch of tests before….'

'Before what? Before they come in here to tell me "Sorry Detective, but we're gonna have to pension you off?' Starsky hissed and tried to sit up until the pain doubled him and bowed his spine. 'Fuck it, I can't even move! What's that say for my career huh?'

'It says you have a lot of healin' to do. C'mon Starsk, it's only been a couple of days since you were at death's door. Hell, last night you were on another planet. Give it time buddy. Things have a habit of workin' out, you'll see.'

'You say that like you already know' Starsky said through gritted teeth.

'I say that coz there's no way I can ever ride with another partner, so it aint just you that you have to get well for, it's me too, and I have to tell you, I'm a selfish son-of-a-bitch, so shudup, lie back down and start healin' huh?'

For a moment Starsky stared up into Hutch's earnest face. Behind the crystal blue eyes, there was so much compassion –and so much anger- that Starsky could almost feel it like a palpable thing. A grin snook up on him and he snickered softly.

'God I love it when you're masterful' he muttered. 'Now go an' get the Doc with some of the good stuff. I hurt like hell.'

At four o'clock that same day, Hutch was dozing in the chair whilst Starsky lay in the bed, trying hard not to think about his future if it wasn't in the police force. He'd never imagined that he would be a cop when he was a boy growing up in New York. When his father died, as the victim of a drive by shooting, it seemed to have set the seal on that idea for ever. At the age of 15, with his Dad dead and his Mom at her wits end about how to deal with her wayward eldest son, Mrs Starsky did the only thing she could think of and sent the young David to California to live with Rosey and Al. That one action was all it took to turn Starsky against the cops for what he thought would be the rest of his life. The police had ruined his life by robbing him of a parent and then isolating him from everything he was used to and comfortable with. The fact that David had turned into a wild child never crossed his mind; he was a young man full of rage and rebelling against his family, he left school and signed up for the Army on a whim.

It was the Army that turned him around. At first Starsky had baulked at the regimentation of the life, rebelling against the seniors who ordered him around, and finding himself in the stockade more than once, but slowly he found he had a talent – one the Army used to full advantage when they sent him to 'Nam. Starsky was a born marksman. He was one of the few men who could take a shot from 1000 yards out and make it count and as soon as he'd found his niche in the battalion, he blossomed, rising through the ranks so that by the time he was sent into the field, he was already a corporal. After his capture and subsequent rescue by his good friend Traff he was promoted once more and pensioned out of the Army. With the final rank of Major, but with nowhere to use it he once again found himself drifting. He missed the one thing he'd always rebelled against – authority and rules- and it left a huge hole in his life although for a long time, he refused to admit that that was what he missed. The one thing that could fill it, ironically, was the police force and once he'd been accepted as a cadet, Starsky came to understand why his dad had been willing to lay his life on the line for the cops day after day on his tough patch back in Queens.

On the second day at the academy, Starsky had been busy eyeing up Cadet Morrissey, a stunning, leggy blond with assets in all the right places when he walked around the corner and right into the path of another tall, tanned a leggy blond, this one carrying a mountain of books. The books cascaded to the ground, along with Starsky and as he started to swear at the blond, he looked up into crystal blue eyes and an earnest face.

'Sssorry…..I um, well I…..um…..Hutchinson…Ken….Hutchinson' the blond man had held out a hand and Starsky had found his anger dissipating as he grinned at the man's obvious discomfort.

'D'ya always go around with your eyes closed?'

'I um…dddidn't see…..I mean um….well…'

Starsky realised that the blond man was genuinely upset. 'Hey. It's ok. Ya didn't mean it. Starsky. Dave Starsky, but folks call me Starsky, or Starsk.' He had held out his hand and the other man had dropped another book as he rushed to grasp it. Both men bent down to retrieve the books and clashed foreheads, sending the blond into another paroxysm of apologies. Eventually Starsky had stopped him.

'Look, just calm down. Ya didn't kill me, it was only a book. Wanna go for a coffee?'

The tall man had looked relieved and a little surprised. 'Sure.'

'So Hutchinson-um-Ken, what do they call ya?' Starsky had asked.

'Huh? Um…..Hutchinson? Ken?'

Starsky had shaken his head. 'Too long and too….well. Hutch. That's better. Shorter – kinda punchy. So Hutch, shall we go get a coffee?'

From that day on, the two men had become inseparable. Starsky worked miracles on Hutch's confidence, something that had never fully developed because of living in his great father's shadow for years whilst Hutch helped Starsky start to study, something that the brunet had never done seriously before. The two buddies bloomed together. Both were excellent marksmen and as Hutch found that he was attractive to the opposite sex and could make friends easily, Starsky began to realise that he was not the dummy he'd always thought he was. His marks in class were consistently in the top five and yet he kept his sudden success to himself, preferring to play the class dummy to his advantage.

After the Academy, the two were assigned to the same precinct and remained friends until Starsky made detective whilst Hutch tried his hand at forensics. The blond missed his buddy, however and longed for the excitement of the streets again. And so, nine months after Starsky had qualified, Hutch too made detective and within weeks had been partnered with his old friend.

Neither man had ever looked back. They'd had tough times and good times but they'd always been together. Now Starsky felt fear for the first time in years. If he couldn't be a detective, or even an active "on the streets" cop, what would he do. What was more important, not only would it ruin his life, but Hutch's too and that was unthinkable.

The brunet was roused from his dark thoughts by a short, muscular black man pausing at the door to his room and then walking in. he walked up to the bed, holding out his hand.

'Dave Starsky? I'm Deek, your personal torturer for the next few days, or at least until you get out of here. My other title is physiotherapist.'

Starsky looked up at the short man. He was the epitome of Mr Five-by-five, almost as broad as he was tall and the arms that stuck out of the short sleeves of his white tunic were strong and muscled, the hands ending in fingers the size of sausages. The hair on his head was short and woolly and beneath that, his eyes were amber brown, set in a round, jovial face.

'Hi' was the only thing the patient could think of to say. The noise from the bed woke Hutch who rubbed his hands over his eyes and ran his fingers through his flaxen bangs. Starsky nodded at the visitor. 'Hutch, meet Deek.'

Deek grinned and held out a pudgy hand. 'Pleased to meet ya. Are you going to stay for the show?'

Hutch looked puzzled. 'Huh?'

'Dave and I are just going to run through a couple of exercises together.'

The blond cop pulled himself upright in his chair. 'Oh now hang on a minute! He's been sick…real sick. He needs rest. He n needs….'

Deek put a hand on Hutch's arm. 'Cool it man. Who's the professional here? I'm not going to do anything that hasn't to be done sooner or later! The sooner he starts movin' that arm and hand, the sooner he's gonna be outa here.'

'I'm all for that' Starsky said from the bed, 'but not today, huh?' The memories of his last night of nightmares and pain were all too real and the thoughts of moving and starting the pain all over again were just too much.

Deek looked surprised. 'Hell yes, today. It aint no use procrastinatin' man.'

'You heard him. After the night he's had….'

'I know, you think I'm outa my head' Deek said quietly. 'But the truth is, if I git robbed, I aint gonna be tellin' no cops how to look after my case, no siree. Now on the other hand, I don't want no cops swimmin' in my soup whilst I'm tryin' to do my job.'

'But…' Hutch started.

Deek placed his hands on his hips and stared Hutch down. 'Now we don't want to set off on the wrong foot do we? Doc Elsa asked me to come on up here and give y'all a whirl an' whirlin' is what I'm gonna do, with or without your permission Mr po-lice man. We can do this the easy way, or I can ask you to wait outside while me and Mr Dave here get better acquainted. What's it to be?'

Hutch looked around the bulk of Deek's body at Starsky. 'What'd'ya say? Do you feel up to it buddy?'

Starsky tried to grin back, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. The pains in his shoulder were already reaching the stage where he was sweating. The thoughts of having to actually move his arm made him feel physically sick. And yet Deek had told him that the sooner he was exercising, the sooner he'd be out of the hospital, and if there was one thing Starsky hated above everything else, it was being a patient.

'I'm good to go' the brunet nodded. 'Do your worst.'

Deek smiled encouragingly. 'We'll take this slow and gentle for starters. All I want you to do is wiggle your fingers for me, back and forth like so' the physio placed his arm across his chest like Starsky's own arm was positioned and flicked his fingers as though he was drumming a tune on his belly.

Starsky looked doubtful but put his discomfort to one side. Wiggling fingers? How hard could that be? He looked down at his hand as he ordered his damaged muscles to move….. and nothing happened. Fear started to creep up the brunet's chest and he frowned down at his hand.

'Nuthin's happenin' he rasped. 'Shit…. I can't move my fuckin' fingers. What the hell?'

Deek placed a comforting hand on his patient's knee. 'Cool it Bro. It's only your first session. I saw your x-rays and man, you is a mess, but we can work it out. Believe it or not, you're doin' great.'

Starsky glared up at him in disbelief. 'I'm a cop and I'm a lefty. I can't even twitch my fingers. How the hell am I gonna hold a gun?' he snapped.

'Patience my man, patience. Hell, is you always so impatient? I seen kids worse'n you start playin' the piano like a pro. Give it time.'

'You mean I could play the piano?' Starsky asked doubtfully.

'Uh huh, like I say, I'm a miracle worker.'

Starsky grinned a genuine grin for the first time. 'You'[d have to be, I've never touched a piano in my life! But jokes aside, I'm tryin' hard as I can and nuthin's happenin'. It's kinda freakin' me out here.'

Deek fixed his patient with one of his "looks". 'Give yourself a chance man! This is gonna take time and practice. Your head has to relearn how to tell damaged muscles and bone how to move. You'll do it, but it could take days. Look, try once more before we give it a rest for today huh? I want you to decide on one finger and concentrate just on that. Pick one and put all your effort into makin' it twitch, ok?'

Starsky nodded and took a deep breath. Although his arm was still tightly bandaged to his chest, his fingers poked out of the end of the bandages and now he willed his index finger to move until sweat broke out across his brow. Just as he was about to give up, the aforementioned finger flicked, moving about a millimetre up from the brunet's chest before laying down again. Deek was ecstatic.

'There ya go! You's already made the first step. We're gonna be ok, me an' you Mr Dave.'

'Starsky, the name is Starsky and I don't know what all the fuss is about, I managed to move my finger about as much as a midges widger, That aint exactly firin' a gun and now…. Jeez' Starsky rested his head back on the pillow, his brow creased in pain and his eyes closed.

Deek rang for the nurse and as she came into the room he winked at his patient and said quietly 'That's Lola. I hope to have me some of that later.'

Starsky opened one eye to see the wink and groaned. 'Just gimme a shot an' leave me alone huh?'

Deek nodded as Lola pushed some more morphine into the port of the IV and as Starsky closed his eyes and tried to relax, he heard the big man leave. 'See ya tomorrow Mr D….Starsky.'

'Not if I can help it' Starsky muttered under his breath as another bout of pain overtook him and left him panting.


	5. Chapter 5

**My friends. I must apologise for not replying to your lovely reviews and for not posting this chapter earlier. As usual, RL has a habit of getting in the way. So, thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing and above all thanks for your friendship.**

**Chapter 5**

The room was quiet. Hutch had been sent home – forced by the kindly goodwill of one of the senior nurses who had seen the strain on the blond's face and had been supplying him with endless cups of hospital black coffee. Hutch looked, and felt all in and with Starsky still out of it after the physio and the pain meds, reluctantly he did as he was told and went home for an unbroken nights sleep, secure in the knowledge that Starsky's fever was down.

For Starsky, reality came back to him slowly. For four days now he had been floating along on the warm, safe raft of morphine, cushioned from the realities of the world by the strong pain medication. It had at first made him feel nauseous and light headed, but as the days progressed and his pain seemed to worsen rather than get better, the brunet came to look forwards to the time when he could give himself up to the warm cocoon of sleep and give his body chance to rest and heal.

The first round of physio had been torture, as Deek had promised and although the short physiotherapist had seemed ecstatic at the progress Starsky had made, the curly haired cop was less pleased. One twitch of a finger and he felt like he'd just spent the last half day chasing down Rats McGuinness in the streets of Bay City. What the hell was that all about? If it took him so much energy just to move his index finger that minute amount, what would it take to move his entire arm – dynamite?

_It's no good. Face it Davey boy. One round of linguini with clams and you're finished. Say goodbye to bein' a cop and just take the payout huh? Lots of Vets never got jobs – just join the masses._

Starsky listened to the voice in his head. It was so unlike him to feel this way. Even when he'd been held captive in the jungles of 'Nam he'd kept his moral up by telling himself he was going to be rescued…. and the enforced "holiday" at the hands of the Viet Kong was far, far worse than being in a warm and cosy hospital, even if his left shoulder was mashed.

_Shudup Starsk. Shudup for a minute and listen to yourself will ya? What the hell are ya talkin' about? You aint no wash up. So ya got shot. It's par for the course aint it? Cops catch bullets – it's an occupational hazard and it aint just you that ya have to worry about. Think about Hutch. Shudup bein' sorry for yourself and think about him for a minute. It's his life too. It's his life you're throwin' down the pan if you just lie down and give up._

_So what do I do?_

_Do the freakin' exercises and prove 'em all wrong. Show 'em that Dave Starsky aint a loser. Set yourself an impossible deadline and beat it._

_Ok._

_Ok?_

_Yeah, great. Move the fingers and…..Jeez it hurts._

_Uh huh, but did it move?_

_Dunno,_

_Well for fucks sake watch them fingers and make 'em move boy!_

Starsky finished his internal pep talk. He'd always been the same. A dip in his confidence and then the only way to get back on his feet was to get angry – and then get even. If Max Durnat wanted him dead then he was damned well going to be at Max Durnat's trial, staring at him across the courtroom with the satisfaction of seeing the flake sent away for a long period in Folsom.

The brunet glanced around the room. It was empty. Hutch must've been sent home and hell, he looked like he needed to sleep. This was almost as rough on his partner as it was on Starsky and the injured man hated to see Hutch hurting.

_If you don't get well for yourself, you gotta do it for him._

Starsky braced his heels into the mattress and with his right hand hitched himself up a bit in the bed, looking down at his bandaged left arm. The fingers still poked out of the end of the bandages, but only a little and, checking that there was no-one to see, carefully Starsky pulled the tight white wrappings away from his hand until he could see his whole hand and wrist. The fingers were swollen and felt tight and useless, but he was going to work on that. With his right hand, Starsky took hold of each left finger in turn and started to bend them and straighten them, feeling the fluid built up in his hand start to flow again. The fingers weren't painful to move and yet they felt dead to him and he kneaded at the digits, forcing life back into them one at a time.

After a good ten minutes of massage, Starsky braced himself. This was it. This was the moment and he stared down at his hand, choosing his index finger to concentrate on again. With all his will, he glared and the finger and willed it to move, visualising his brain sending the myriad of messages down his damaged nerves and into the tip of his hand. For long seconds, nothing happened other than the familiar feeling of panic that seemed to flow up from his toes.

_It's not happenin'._

_Shudup and concentrate._

_I did already._

_Well do it some more._

Sweat started to bloom across his cheeks and brow again and almost angrily Starsky wiped away the trickle that was starting down his unshaven cheek. He fixed that same finger again with the glare he usually used for those he had arrested and was questioning and blew out a breath through his nose, pursing his lips.

_C'mon ya bastard. Do it. Move._

It twitched and this time more than a single millimetre. This time that index finger moved up almost a centimetre and then lay down again. Starsky felt a surge of pride at the movement and tried again. This time, it took longer for the movement, but when it happened, it was once again a significant move and the brunet let his head sag back against the pillow, as exhausted as if he'd won a wind race.

He allowed himself a moment to recover and then started again, spurred on by his results. The movements hurt each and every time, but the pain suddenly felt good. Pain showed him there was life in that hand and arm and pain was something Starsky understood. He didn't like it and he couldn't ignore it, but the pain made him continue long past the time when he should have stopped and allowed his body to rest. Starsky pushed himself hard – something he'd always done, but the push came at a price and that price was a wracking, deep throb of pain that seemed to consume him. Early the following morning, Lola, his nurse came in to check on her patient, expecting to see Starsky sleeping. Instead she found him pale and shaking and covered in sweat as though he'd been fighting all night. She immediately rushed towards the bed, her heart thumping as she looked down at the grey face on the pillow.

'Dave, are you ok? Are you in pain?'

Exhausted, Starsky forced his eyes open, his whole body trembling with weariness.

'Hurts like hell' he rasped.

'Where? Is it your shoulder? Your temperatures up again. I should get Elsa back to come check you over.'

To Lola's surprise Starsky grinned weakly. 'You do that honey, and when she gets here, I may even wave at her like this.' Very slowly, and with his face creased in pain, Starsky raised the whole of his hand from the wrist and flexed each finger in turn. In a fit of euphoria, he even tried a wave before the ocean of pain closed in over the top of his and he rode the tide of pain shoreward and towards sleep.

The night pressed in through his window against the pane of glass. With it Starsky could feel the stars twinkling overhead and the heat of the night like a cozy, soft blanket, surrounding him and the beautiful woman at his side. The brunet felt both peaceful and energised, a sense of achievement giving him a glow he hadn't felt in days. Languorously, he turned his head on the pillow and looked down at the girl whose head rested against his chest. Feeling her lover move, she turned her head up to look at him and a slow, lazy smile crept over her fine, feline features.

'Are you ok honey?' he asked softly, his voice still husky from the last wave of the sex and full for need for round three.

'Always, when I'm with you.'

He snickered. 'God, you say all the right things. Just the sound of your voice makes me want you more.'

She smiled. 'Again? Don't you ever get tired?'

'Of you? No. I could make love to you all night and then all the next day, and the next. I crave you like…. Well, like an addict craves his drugs. You're intoxicating.' Slowly, Starsky's hand moved towards her breast, stroking the silky soft skin and bringing a mew of contentment from her. The woman's own hand glided across the hard, muscled plane of his belly and further south, following the line of hair that stretched from belly button to his cock like a runway. She paused, scratching her fingers through the course, curly hair, teasing Starsky as her hand dipped, but never quite reached the hard rod of flesh waiting for her.

The brunet hitched his breath as finally he felt the core of his body encircled by a firm, yet gentle hand. He was ready. He'd been ready for her since he'd woken up minutes ago, and he astounded himself. Twice before, that night, they had made love. Twice before they had locked their bodies together and risen to the heavens as they put into physical actions the love they felt for each other and yet he craved more. He wanted to feel himself plunge into her body. He wanted to feel her nails rake down his spine as her own spine bowed from pleasure and he yearned to hear her call his name into the dark as she shook with pleasure.

The hand on his core was working harder now, and Starsky bent to bite gently at the woman's neck, working lower to capture a pink rosebud nipple between his teeth and worry it gently. Lola shook beneath him and redoubled her efforts, her hand gliding over his heated flesh in long, slow strokes whilst the other hand cupped his balls and squeezed gently. Fireworks set off behind the brunet's eyes and he shuddered, groaning.

'I need you' he whispered.

'Come and get me' she answered, her voice heavy with need.

Carefully Starsky turned so that he lay on his back. He pulled Lola over to him gently, encouraging the woman to straddle his body so that he could look up into her almond shaped eyes as she prepared herself. The brunet held his breath, fighting for control as he felt her position herself and then slowly lower herself onto him, easing him inside her until he was wrapped in her warm flesh. For long seconds Lola held herself still. Starsky was big and she felt that same slight fear as her body stretched to accommodate him and yet at the same time, she trusted him implicitly not to hurt her. Slowly she started to move her body and Starsky lay still, holding his breath as he felt the woman grind her hips against his body. For an eternity he held his body still and silent, fighting the urge to plunge into her, exacting his own enjoyment. That was never his nature. Starsky enjoyed giving his women pleasure almost as much as the rush of heat in his cock just before he came.

This third time his body was relaxed however and he could savour the feelings, enjoying the woman working her body against his. He could feel himself slipping in and out of her and although he thrust upwards with his hips, it was Lola who seemed to want to take the lead and Starsky submitted, willingly.

Above him, the woman's body started to tremble and she arched her spine, her hands clawing at his chest as she started to shake. Starsky felt her body tighten around him and at the same time he felt a pulling at the centre of his own body, his cock being encircled with soft, pulsing flesh as he groaned huskily.

'Oh…yeahhhh' he breathed as his body started to spasm too.

'Yeah?' a voice somewhere above him asked. It sounded like Lola's voice and yet it had none of the qualities he'd just heard and something about it made Starsky open his eyes. He looked up not into the velvety blackness of his own bedroom at Ridgeway, but into the soft, blue light of the strip above his hospital bed.

For long seconds, Starsky wondered where he was. The dream had been so real. He had felt those hands on his body as though he was truly there, making love to the beautiful nurse and yet now…..?

The reality check hit him and Starsky clamped his mouth closed as he looked up into Lola's blushing face. 'You were asleep and the Doctor told me you needed to rest, but um…well I had to take the catheter out and um…..'

Starsky looked down his body to see that his sheets had been pulled back and the hands he'd felt in his dream were actually working on the centre of his body, not making love to him, but removing the invading tube that had been lodged in that sensitive place since his admission to the hospital. At once thankful to be rid of the catheter and at the same time embarrassed at his body's reaction, Starsky could think of nothing to say other than the apology that came unbidden to his lips.

'I don't know what to say. Sorry' he said sheepishly.

Lola blushed deeper and looked away. Normally her patients were older men. She was used to dealing with broken hips and flabby bellies. To have this ruggedly handsome, slightly vulnerable cop under her care was the stuff her dreams were made of and although she aimed for professional detachment, there was no way that she could ignore the olive toned skin, muscled torso and the deep, indigo blue eyes that she longed to drown in. Had she met Starsky under different circumstances, she might have flung herself at him. He was the epitome of the type of guy she would love to date, and yet he was not her boyfriend. He was her patient and as much as she lusted after his body, she fought to remain professional.

'Don't worry' she said, turning away so that Starsky wouldn't see her discomfort. 'It happens all the time. It's a perfectly normal response.' Quickly she completed the procedure whilst Starsky stared at the ceiling and tried not to think of anything remotely to do with his body. It was bad enough that he'd had to endure sponge baths, but he was so glad to have got rid of at least one invading tube. Whilst it was every guy's wet dream to be seduced by their beautiful nurse in uniform, the reality had (until just now) been far from sexy. With the dream so fresh in his mind, and with the woman still messing about south of his waist, Starsky glared at the ceiling and waited until the whole procedure had finished. By the time Lola had cleared up and straightened his sheets again, Starsky was thankful to see Deek's huge bulk at the door to his room.

Lola nodded a greeting to the black physio, hastily got together the last of her equipment and left as Deek made his way over to the bed.

'A little bird told me you've been workin' hard while I've been away' he said, alluding to the exercises Starsky had been working on.

Starsky grinned and shifted in the bed. 'Did the little bird also tell ya that that was Lola, and I've had me some of that?'

Hutch lay on his back in his bed and refused to open his eyes. Opening them would mean that the day was about to begin and once the day began in earnest, he would have to go back to work, to the Metro and leave Starsky to his recovery back at the hospital.

It wasn't that the two men were inseparable – well, scratch that, they pretty much were, but not in a soft, sappy way. Hutch had feelings for Starsky that he'd spent years analysing. He was in love with the guy, if he admitted that to himself, but not in the "I want to be your boyfriend and get into your pants" gay way. He was in love with Starsky as though the brunet were his brother, his mother his father and his entire life. The feelings he had for Starsky, he knew were reciprocal, but at the beginning of his career, they had bothered him enough that he'd finally booked himself an appointment with the police shrink, to get things ironed out. They weren't like the other partners. Hell, they weren't like any cops Hutch had ever known. It had been drummed into Hutch that a partner was someone to rely on for your safety and maybe your life, but what he had with Starsky was way beyond that. He'd headed down to the doctor's office sheepishly, had closed the door and sat down and stared at the floor in silence for a good five minutes before plucking up the courage to speak. It was only after he'd finally allowed himself to verbalise what he'd felt since he'd first met Starsky at the Academy, that he'd been able to truly understand their relationship.

It was built on trust – that much was a given. All the best cop partners trusted each other implicitly because they lived out on the streets with guns and flakes who would snuff out their lives without a second thought. It was more than trust. Starsky had been flawed when Hutch had first met him, and Hutch had had his own fare share of issues. Starsky had been discharged from the Army after recovering from a three month enforced stay with the Viet Kong. He'd been tortured repeatedly and was at deaths door when his friend Tom (Traff) Trafford had rescued him and gotten him to a field hospital (See the Legends Trilogy – Part 1 David, by this author) and although his physical injuries had finally healed, his mind was still working hard to overcome his maltreatment. He'd covered his discomfort by being brash and playing class clown and yet Hutch had been able to see beneath that and discover the true David Starsky – the man who needed to feel as though he belonged to something…..or someone.

At the same time, Hutch too had needed someone. He was by no means a user, but what Starsky did for him was give him space to simply be "Hutch" without comment about his clumsiness or his stammer or his natural shyness. With Starsky at his side, Hutch had blossomed into the man he now was. With Hutch helping him, Starsky had reached his true potential. Neither man verbally acknowledged what the other did for him and yet the understanding had always been there – that each man would willingly give up everything to make sure the other was ok.

Starsky had almost thrown away his Detective career when he'd found Hutch alone, hurting and stoned out of his mind in that stinking alleyway. With the drugs plunging around his system, forced onto him by his girlfriend's jealous ex, Hutch had been completely out of his mind. Everything he saw, everything he heard and every touch he felt had been alien and yet, when those strong arms had taken him and Starsky had held him, he'd felt safer than he had as a child, holding onto his Mom. Starsky had risked everything to keep Hutch's enforced addiction quiet and had endured physical and mental tirades from Hutch as he'd shaken his way through the withdrawal. For that, Hutch would always be truly grateful and if anything, the actions had amplified his feelings for Starsky.

This was the first time that either of them had been actually injured whilst out in the field. They'd had bruises from flakes who'd put up fights, not wanting to be arrested, but as to actually catching a slug – Starsky had most certainly claimed first prize. Hutch would have camped out at the hospital if he could. In some indefinable way he felt responsible for Starsky and hated that it was someone else who was looking after his best friend. When Lola had called that night to say that Starsky had been calling for Hutch in his fever, Hutch had felt a stupid surge of pride that rode on the back of his concern. Starsky wanted him. Starsky needed him, and he would never let his partner down.

Soapy? Of course. Closer than other cop partners? Yes. Gay? Never. But they were bound together like brothers and that would never change. Now, however, after 5 days of being constantly by Starsky's side as he started his recovery, Hutch had once again to return to work and leave his buddy to get on with things. Starsky's shoulder was one hell of a mess. Was this the start of things to come? Would his partner ever recover enough for them both to resume where they'd left off? The blond man shuddered at the prospect of policing without the curly haired hellion of a man by his side.

_Not gonna happen Hutch. Never gonna happen._

With that thought ringing firmly in his head, Hutch heaved himself out of bed and set about showering, mixing his morning power shake and getting ready for a day of mind numbing boredom dealing with the mountain of paperwork that would surely have built up whilst he and Starsky had been away. By 8:30, the blond cop was ready, washed, dressed in his customary butter soft brown cords, his favourite green tee shirt and his tan leather jacket. It wasn't the height of sartorial elegance, but the jacket was cut loose enough to disguise his shoulder holster and allow him a fast enough draw if the need arose. Not that it would today. The most dangerous thing on the menu for Hutch today was a staple in the eye, or a cup of the Metro's vicious black coffee.

With a final check, Hutch caught himself thinking he was going to be late to meet Starsky. It brought the flaxen haired man up short. Starsky was so much a part of his life, what would he do if things didn't work out? Was there anything he wouldn't do to make sure his partner was ok?

With the firm "no", Hutch gathered up his car keys and headed down the path and out to his car. Just another day at the office and only eight hours before he could see Starsk again.

The day passed slowly for the blond man. Arriving at the office, there had been the usual round of inquiries as to his health, and more importantly, Starsky's health. He'd answered everyone's questions patiently because it put off the evil moment when he would have to open that first file and get to work on the dreaded typewriter, but eventually, the other cops drifted off to start their jobs out on the street and Hutch was left staring at the empty chair where his partner usually sat, and wondering if he would ever get used to not having Starsky around. He sighed, picked up the first file, opened it and started to read.

By lunchtime, Hutch had had enough. His eyes ached from staring at the same paragraph of type while his mind was back with Starsky. As soon as he could, he phoned the hospital to be told that his partner had had a "productive" night (whatever that meant) and that whilst still in a degree of pain, Detective Starsky was progressing well. It was the standard type of message from any nurse. Instructed never to give too much away, they always aimed for the cheerfully optimistic and whilst that may satisfy some friends and relatives, it did nothing to assuage the concern that Hutch still felt for his buddy.

Lunchtime was also the best time to reach Rachel Starsky. Once Starsky's surgery was over and there was a firm promise that the brunet would make it, Hutch had phoned his partners Mom and informed her that her eldest son had been shot. The feisty Jewish woman had taken the news with quiet dignity. She'd lost one of her men to the job and she knew the score. A cop took his life in his hands every time he stepped out of the precinct. At first, Rachel had wanted to fly down to Cal to be with her son but Hutch had persuaded her that it wasn't necessary, partly because she couldn't truly afford it, and partly because much as Starsky loved his Mom and phoned her every week for a long chat, the brunet always said he didn't want to burden her with worry – she had enough of that with Nicky, the younger Starsky boy. Hutch had, however, promised to keep her informed of her son's progress and once Starsky was able, he too had phoned to assure Rachel that he was ok. Now, Hutch made a quick call to tell the plucky woman that her son was doing well, and may be out of the hospital by the end of the week. That done, the flaxen haired cop went back to his fifth coffee and tried once more to concentrate on the murder file in front of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Across town, Starsky too was concentrating. Deek had been truly impressed by the progress he'd made in moving his hand. The doctor had been called, and after an examination and much poking and prodding, which left Starsky sweating but relieved, Elsa declared that the bandages could come off and the stitches could come out. Lola carefully unwrapped Starsky shoulder and chest and had been gentle as she cut each of the fifteen stitches and pulled them out one at a time. The annoying pull of the nylon against his newly healing skin was finally gone and Starsky could relax for the first time, but not for long.

That afternoon, whilst Hutch pored over his report of the night at the café, Starsky sweated and swore through another round of physio, this time to start moving his shoulder. Even breathing, now that his arm was unsupported was excruciating and the first time Starsky attempted to flex the torn muscle and move his arm, fireworks had set off in his head and a deep throbbing started to radiate out and down his chest.

Deek had been encouraging, but at the same time seemed cautious. He warned Starsky that whilst it had been fine to plough ahead with the exercises on his fingers and hand, his shoulder needed time and that Starsky was not to overdo things. The brunet, of course, had ignored every word and had continued on, long after the big physio had left his room. By the time Lola came back to check on her patient two hours later, Starsky was dripping in sweat and panting through another paroxysm of pain. The nurse had immediately called for Elsa, who came with yet another syringe of morphine. As she plunged the needle into the port on the drip feed, she fixed Starsky with a steely eye.

'Why are you doing this to yourself?'

Starsky had managed a crooked grin. 'Coz no-one else will let me do it to them?' he rasped.

'I mean it. Deek must have told you to take it easy. If you don't, you'll cause more damage – something we may not be able to repair. Now do I have your word that you won't try this again, huh? Otherwise I'll instruct Lola to put the bandages back – extra tight.'

Starsky rested his head back on the pillow. The meds were beginning to wash through his blood stream and with the pain relief came the familiar floating, dissociated feeling. The brunet relaxed against the pillow. 'I promise to be a good little boy' he mumbled.

Elsa nodded. 'See that you do. In the nicest possible way, I want you out of here.'

'You say the nicest things' Starsky whispered as he allowed himself to drift off the sleep on a cushion of morphia.

The next time the brunet woke, the bright afternoon sunlight had gone and he was just in time to catch the last rays of the evening sunset catch the mirror on the wall opposite his bed. Starsky felt warm and relaxed and oddly free now that his arm was unwrapped and free of the constricting bandages. It felt painful for sure, and cold, and yet it marked a huge milestone in the injured man's mind. He was going to make it, and he had proved everyone wrong by being able to move not just his fingers and hand, but his whole arm too.

Stretching carefully, Starsky yawned and rolled his head on the pillow to see Hutch watching him quietly from the chair opposite.

'Hey buddy' the blond smiled.

'Hey yourself. You shouldn't have' Starsky nodded at an enormous basket of fruit wrapped up in a bright yellow cellophane bow that sat on his table.

Something in Hutch's face told Starsky that the blond was uneasy. 'I didn't' Hutch said.

'Dobey?'

'Uh uh.' Hutch plucked the gift card from the basket and handed it to his partner. Starsky took it in his right hand and focussed on the words on the little flowery card.

Thanks for catching my bullet. I owe you one, VM.

Starsky's brown furrowed. 'VM? Is that who I think it is?'

Hutch nodded, his face like thunder. 'How many VMs do we know? And how many slugs have you taken recently? I think Vic Monty has just become your number one fan.'

That night Starsky dreamed of the restaurant and the girl – Theresa. Although he was back there, this time he wasn't shot. This time it was Hutch who was bleeding to death whilst Starsky tried to make sense of what Max Durnat was all about. As he pleaded to be allowed to take his partner to the hospital, Starsky's heart rate spiked. He felt the same panic and sense of helplessness as Hutch must have felt, faced with Durnat's repeated refusals to get Starsky some help. But even more spookily, in the background of Starsky's nightmare, a shadowy figure watched as though on a huge TV screen. The figure laughed as Hutch was shot, clapping his hands together in glee. He watched intently as Starsky had tried to stop the bleeding and had finally overpowered Durnat and the figure had eventually come out of the shadows to come and grasp Starsky by the shoulder.

'Well done son. You passed the test. I want you and I want the blond one. I need you…..I need you…..I need…'

The dream faded as Starsky yelled NOOOO into the darkness of his room and woke himself up shaking and covered in sweat. This time, his temperature was not from over-exertion as much as from the content of the nightmare.

Vic Monty had been wanted by the 9th Precinct for as long as Starsky and Hutch had been detectives. He was one of those lucky (or clever) gangsters who carried on his business right under the noses of the cops and yet stayed just the right side of the law to stop the heat from taking him in. He was responsible for countless murders, for half the addicts on the streets of Bay City and for more than a couple of huge jewel heists and yet, shadowy and always out on the fringe, despite the cops best endeavours, Monty had played it well enough that they could never pin anything on him directly. He ruled the streets by fear and surrounded himself with hit men and muscled guards. Sure, the cops knew it was Vic Monty who was behind the deaths and destruction, and yet he had enough foot soldiers to be able to hide behind them, always giving the orders, but never tarnishing his own hands with the crimes. Whilst Monty had been a thorn in Starsky and Hutch's sides, he had always remained at arm's length – up until now. This was the first time that the precinct knew of a direct attempt on Monty's life…. and the first time it had become personal for the gangster.

Starsky panted into the darkness of his room, running the fingers of his right hand through his damp curls. Dammit! Monty knew it was Starsky that had taken that bullet…..and he knew where the brunet was. The curly haired cop wasn't scared. Monty seemed almost grateful that it wasn't he who had been shot, and yet it made a chill ride up and down Starsky's spine to have received a gift from the gangster, and whilst he, Starsky was safe in the hospital, what might happen to Hutch? Or maybe the question was what would Hutch do next?

The blond cop had been livid at the audacity Monty used to send the basket of fruit. Starsky hadn't seen his partner so angry ever in the past and he recalled their conversation.

'_It's just a basket of fruit Blintz.'_

'_It's a red rag to a bull. What right does he have, Huh? And how did he know?'_

'_Coz it was on the local TV? It don't take a detective to work that one out. Hutch let it go. When I get out of here and well, we can go after him then.'_

'_I wanna…..'_

_Starsky had sat further up in the bed. 'You don't wanna do anythin' ya shouldn't. It's enough one of us is in here. Why're you so rattled anyway?'_

_Hutch had glared at his partner. 'Rattled? Me?'_

'_Uh huh. Had a bad day?'_

_Hutch had started to say something but how could he put into words the loss and….well terror if he was honest with himself….that he'd felt sitting alone in that squad room looking at the empty space where Starsky usually sat. They say reactions to a situation could be delayed. Well in that case, Hutch was suffering a delayed reaction to that night at the restaurant. Starsky could have died. Starsky could have bleed to death on the couch and then Hutch would have been alone for real. The thought had had Hutch's pulse racing and had made a cold sweat break out over his brow. It had taken him a while to slow his breathing and bring his hammering heart under control. It hadn't happened and Starsky was going to be just fine…but it could have been so different._

_Starsky watched the emotions flit over his partner's face and realised there was so much going on behind those crystal blue eyes – stuff that Hutch wanted to keep for himself. It didn't take words for Starsky to understand that his buddy had experienced that piercing feeling of possible loss that he himself had experienced only a couple of nights ago. Quietly he reached out and put a hand on Hutch's knee, his eyes seeking out and locking onto Hutch's. Neither man needed words to let the other know that things would work out just fine and slowly Hutch relaxed in his partners company._

Starsky stared up at the ceiling of his room, illuminated by the soft blue light at the head of his bed. He'd survived. Against the odds, he'd survived again and now he needed only to get his arm working again and he'd be back out there with Hutch, doing what they both loved best and to hell with Vic Monty. In defiance, Starsky leaned over and took a bunch of black grapes from the fruit basket, his Mom's soft voice echoing in his ears. _'Never look a gift horse in the mouth Davey.'_

Morning brought a new, bright day and a gathering of people in Starsky's room. Elsa, Lola and Deek all stood around the chair in which Starsky sat. Elsa had watched with growing pride as Deek had put Starsky through his paces. All the brunet's hard work was paying off and now he could move his arm and shoulder a good 30 degrees forwards and maybe 15 degrees out to the side. It hurt and it cost him every scrap of effort he had, but at least the muscles and the bone were moving again and Starsky looked at the doctor expectantly.

'Well?'

Elsa smiled. 'What can I say? If all my patients were as conscientious as you about their physio then I'd have a helluva lot of empty beds.'

'Flattery will get ya nowhere. You know what I mean' Starsky grinned. 'It aint that I don't like you all, but….'

'Is this afternoon too late?' Elsa asked

'Can't you make it this morning?'

The doctor laughed and shook her head. 'You're impossible! No, it'll have to be this afternoon because the pharmacy need to get all your drugs together. It's going to be tough when you're at home Starsky. You've been used to very strong pain meds and a lot of rest. I'm sending you home with pain relief, antibiotics and a list of exercises as long as your arm, pardon the pun. Are you listening to me?'

Starsky put on his best "good boy" expression. 'Uh huh. Pain meds, antibot…antiblo….stuff to stop the infection and more rounds of torture. Got it. Can I call Hutch now?'

Elsa grinned. 'You can call Hutch. But tell him not to collect you before 2, ok?' the doctor knew she was talking to the wind as Starsky was already jabbing impatiently at the telephone with his good, right hand.

Across town, Hutch picked up the phone just as Dobey came to the door of his office.

'Hutchinson?'

Hutch beamed up at his boss. 'Telephone Cap'n' he mimed as he took the call and Dobey watched the blond's face break out into a smile. Impatiently Dobey waited until the blond cop put down the phone.

'Well?'

'Starsky's comin' home. I need to go and get him.'

'I need you in my office' the big black man countered.

Hutch smiled winningly as he gathered his jacket. 'Sorry Cap'n. I'll be right back…..after lunch…..gotta go…..collecting…'

'Starsky from the hospital. Yeah, I got that. But Hutchinson, I need to see you this afternoon' Dobey called to the disappearing back as Hutch made a rush for the door. 'Hutchinson!'

Hutch stopped in his tracks and opened the door again. 'I got it….here, after lunch….you want me. Gotta go!'


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

'I'm coming with you.'

'You're gonna stay here and rest.'

Starsky ignored the blond and walked over to his cupboard, taking out his comfortable, worn brown leather jacket. 'Look, I've been in bed for a week. I've rested until I aint got no more rest in me. I'm itchin' to get out. I just want to see someone other than doctors and nurses and…..'

'Are you gettin' fed up of me?'

The brunet grinned. 'You know what I mean.'

'I do' Hutch said, 'But I also know what Elsa said. Starsk, three days ago they were worried you'd survive.'

'But I did and I gotta say, if you ever go through sumthin like that…. Hutch it made me realise that you've got to take life by the horns. It's too short to be sittin' here on my own with dark thoughts. I'll be good, I promise. Just talkin' and sittin'. How much better could it be?'

The blond man looked dubious. 'You're just gonna come for the ride and sit and talk, do I have that right?'

'Uh huh.'

'And you aren't gonna do anythin' stupid?'

Starsky put on his hurt expression. 'Me? Stupid?'

Hutch sighed. 'You're impossible.'

'I know, but I'm cute with it. Here, have an apple.' The smaller man took a fruit from the basket supplied by Vic Monty and threw it to his buddy. Hutch caught it and glared at it.

'I'd choke.'

Starsky took an apple himself and bit into it with obvious relish. 'It's free and it's food. Don't be sore.'

'No! He's not doin' it. He's not goin' near that flake. Over my dead body' Starsky thundered as he bounded out of the chair in Dobey's office and leaned over the desk towards the black man.

'Siddown Starsky.'

'Not until you tell that son-of-a-bitch that my partner don't play bodyguard for anyone. Who the fuck does he think he is? The Queen of England? Hell, I wouldn't even let Hutch be a bullet catcher for her!'

Dobey glared back. 'And since when did you decide what Hutchinson does and doesn't do? Who put you in charge huh?'

'The bullet that did this put me in charge, especially where Vic Monty is concerned' Starsky yelled. He staggered again and angrily shouldered Hutch away as the blond tried to steer him back to his chair.

'Starsk, let's be reasonable about this' Hutch muttered.

'Reasonable? Reasonable? Hutch, you were the one who wanted to rip Monty's head off because of a basket of fruit. Now he wants this? No, no and oh, did I mention? NO.'

Dobey wiped his hanky over his face. He knew this was going to be a difficult call and yet the stakes were high. 'Starsky sit down or I'll call the hospital to have you re-admitted. Just hear me out.'

Starsky glared at both the other men and sat back down. A deep throb of pain had started up in his shoulder and radiated out until it consumed his whole arm, chest and head. Stubbornly he refused to tell anyone just how much he was hurting but he longed for some quiet time to take his pain meds and sleep. 'Fine' he mumbled and sat down, surreptitiously massaging his arm.

Dobey turned to Hutch. 'What are your views? I'm not gonna make ya, but I don't need to spell out what this means.'

Hutch sighed.

When they'd got back to the Metro that afternoon, Dobey had been waiting for them at the door to his office. His eyebrows had risen when he'd seen Starsky in tow and he'd waited patiently whilst the brunet answered the various questions about his wound and his general health. In truth Dobey felt relieved that Starsky had come into the Metro. Just to see the curly haired hellion seemed to make the conversation he was about to have a whole lot easier – or so he had thought. Finally he called a halt to the welcome back parade. 'When you've finally finished disrupting the team…'

Hutch had looked up. 'Oh, yeah. You wanted to see me Cap'n.'

Both men had made their way into Dobey's office and in deference to Starsky's injury, Hutch had allowed his partner the full chair all to himself whilst he'd brought in a wooden chair from outside.

'How's it going Starsky?' Dobey had started.

'I'm good. Doc says I should be back to normal in a few weeks.'

'I didn't expect to see you so soon.'

Starsky grinned. 'I know you miss me.'

Dobey grunted. 'Like toothache' he'd muttered although it was said with good humour. He got down to business, pulled a file out from his drawer and handed it to Hutch.

'I have a job for you.'

'Us?'

The black man had shook his head. 'No, you. Starsky's gonna be out of commission for a while and um…..you've been requested.'

The blond man had looked up in surprise. 'Requested?'

Starsky snorted. 'Hey Blondie! Ya got a fan!'

'Shuddup Starsk' Hutch and Dobey had said together. Whilst Hutch opened the file, Dobey started to look uncomfortable. His discomfort increased as Hutch finally slammed the file shut and flung it back onto the desk.

'Not till hell freezes over' he'd snapped.

'Hutchinson, hear me out, ok?'

Starsky sat up straighter. 'What? What's the file?' he'd asked his partner, feeling suddenly left out.

Hutch had sighed. 'My "fan" wants a bodyguard.'

'You?'

'Why don't you enlighten Detective Starsky?' Hutch had said quietly, looking defiantly at Dobey.

'Will somebody tell me what's going on?' Starsky had asked.

Dobey took a deep breath. 'We know that Vic Monty has been behind almost three quarters of the crime in this area for years and yet we've never been able to nail him, right?'

Starsky nodded, not liking where this was going. Dobey had ploughed on regardless.

'Last night I got a phone call that Monty wanted to talk. I set up a meeting. Couldn't arrest him on the spot coz we have no evidence, right? So we meet and basically Vic Monty, number one crime wave in Bay City was so rattled that Max Durnat was sent to blow him away that he feels the need to turn State's evidence and spill the beans on just about every other flake in the city. This is huge. We could clean up.'

'But?' Starsky had asked suspiciously.

Dobey sighed. 'But it comes with a proviso. Monty is scared, I mean scared shitless. He knows someone is onto him – someone powerful enough to have him blown away and he's willing to do just about anything to save his own skin and make his patch safe again. In his mind that equates to a minimum sentence in minimum security in return for every other major player in Bay City languishing behind bars. He's willing to give me names, jobs, dates. What he wants in return is a bodyguard with him 24/7 until the hearing.'

'And that's me' Hutch snapped.

'You? Why you?' Starsky had asked.

'Hey! Why not me? Ok, scrap that. I don't want the job anyway. Find some other sucker to babysit him.'

Dobey shook his head. 'No can do. Whatever happened that night, it's impressed Vic. He wants the best, which in his mind is Hutch or the deals off.'

It was at that point that Starsky lost his temper.

Starsky sat in the rusty brown LTD staring morosely at the passing crowds. Since leaving Dobey's office, neither man had said very much although both of them had minds that were a whirl with thoughts. For Starsky, the overriding feeling was once again one of uselessness. Hutch going out on a job by himself was something that had never happened before. Sure both men had from time to time taken under cover assignments, but the other had always been there, lurking in the background as back up. This was different. This time Hutch would be there on his own whilst Starsky took enough time to heal. The thoughts of his blond partner putting his life on the line for some no-good, son-of-a-bitch, lying, conniving, murdering bastard put Starsky's teeth on edge and did nothing to stop the thundering headache and the almost intolerable pain in his shoulder.

Hutch drove like an automaton. His own thoughts pretty much mirrored Starsky's although his concerns were not for himself but for the smaller man sitting next to him. He'd see the sweat start to bloom across Starsky's brow back in Dobey's office and he'd seen the narrowing of those deep, deep indigo eyes – Starsky's "tell" that he was in pain. Hutch had expected to be there whilst his partner recovered. He knew from experience that the brunet hated hospital, needles and anything that resembled a drug and he'd been ready to battle Starsky over the whole issue of taking his meds. Now, rather than worrying about guarding Vic Monty day in and day out until the hearing, he was concerned that Starsky wasn't going to look after himself whilst he was away.

The meeting with Dobey had ended with the big black man telling Hutch that he wouldn't order the blond cop to take the assignment but he wanted Hutch to think about it carefully – and think about what an opportunity this was for the Metro to clean up in one fell swoop. He'd given Hutch 12 hours to make his decision and had dismissed the men with orders to take Starsky home and "for gods sake get him some pain meds".

The car drew up outside Ridgeway and both men got out. 'Coffee?' Hutch asked.

'Bourbon' Starsky muttered morosely.

'Uh uh. Not on top of the codeine. Coffee, two pills and bed.'

The brunet wiggled his eyebrows. 'You romantic you! But I don't do bed. Not on a first date. Ok, well maybe I do, but I respect you too much.'

Hutch opened the door to Starsky's apartment and made himself at home setting up the percolator and busying himself in the kitchen. Starsky eased himself down onto the chair and stifled a groan. The pain was getting steadily worse and he slipped his arm out of the sling and started his exercises again. The pain grew worse but he gritted his teeth and pushed himself all the harder. He stopped only when Hutch handed him a glass of milk and two white pills. Starsky took them and glared at him.

'Which are these?'

'The ones that send you to La La land.'

'Don't want 'em.'

Hutch sighed. 'Starsk, you're hurtin' like hell and…..will ya stop exercising your fuckin' arm? It aint gonna get better over night, no matter what you do. You have to give it time. Starsk, please. Just give it a rest huh?'

Reluctantly Starsky stopped but still stared at the pills in his hand. 'How long will they knock me out?'

Hutch shrugged. 'Dunno. Does it matter?'

'It does if I need to be up for work tomorrow.'

'What?'

'You don't think I'm gonna let you take this job with Monty all by yourself?'

The blond stared unbelievingly at his partner. 'You aren't serious. You're jokin', right?'

'No.'

Hutch sank down onto the sofa opposite his buddy. 'Starsk, you came out of hospital this morning. Four days ago I thought I was gonna lose ya. Just over a week ago you were bleedin' to death on the floor of that fuckin' restaurant. What the hell makes you think you're fit enough? Hell, look at ya. No disrespect buddy, but right now you couldn't wrestle a fly off of a burrito, let alone fight off whoever paid Durnat to get to Monty.'

For one awful moment Starsky looked like he was going to weep with frustration. 'I'm not leavin' ya to deal with this on your own. It's too dangerous. It's….'

It's a job and we both know I'm gonna take it.'

'Then I'm gonna….'

Hutch put on his best "angry" face. 'You're gonna take your pills like a good boy, you're gonna go to bed and you're gonna stay there. Elsa said that exercising too much at this point will make things worse, not better. You still need to rest.'

'I need to back you up' Starsky said softly.

'And you will. After you recover. Go. Bed.'

Starsky hauled himself to his feet feeling every one of his 27 years. In truth it had been sheer will and determination that had kept him on his feet thus far. Now, the thought of getting into his own warm, soft bed was so compelling that he no other arguments to offer. Stiffly he made his way into the bedroom and when Hutch checked on him a half an hour later, Starsky was dead to the world.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Two days later, Hutch took the dreaded assignment. The night before he and Starsky and Huggy Bear had had a quiet "all nighter" at The Pits and whilst the drinks were the orange juice variety in deference to Starsky's pain meds, the three men played catch up, reliving old times. It was meant to be a happy occasion, just three friends enjoying themselves in some down time, so none of them could understand why it felt more like a wake than a party. By 3.00am the talk had dried up and they'd had enough orange juice and lemonade to last a lifetime. Starsky was fighting to keep awake and Hutch finally stood up and put on his jacket.

'Time all good little cops were in bed.'

Starsky grinned. 'Good little cops huh? That rules me out.'

'I thought you said you were always good?' Huggy asked with a twinkle in his eye.

'So I've been told, but even I need my beauty sleep.'

'You guys be careful out there' Huggy said quietly as the two cops made their way to the door.

'Always Hug.'

For some inexplicable reason the lanky bar tender caught Hutch's arm and turned him around. 'I mean it. Word is that Monty is a dirty player. I know you'll be careful, but there's a whole lot of other flakes out on the street who would love to fill Vic Monty's shoes right now. If they know he's gonna be spilling the beans on 'em, they're going to get plenty mean.'

Starsky shuffled uneasily. 'He knows' he said, more for his own benefit than Hutch's.

Hutch patted Huggy's arm and lifted his jacket away from his body to reveal his gun. 'Me and Mr Colt here are always careful, but thanks Hug. See you in a couple'a weeks. You look after Starsk, huh?'

Huggy had grinned. 'Will do' he said lightly, although there was some weight behind the words. Starsky glared at both men.

'Who am I? The little kiddy next door that needs a baby minder? I'll be fine.'

And that was that. Hutch had driven Starsky home and the two men had said their goodbyes. Hutch would be at the safe house minding Monty. It was up in the hills, but even Hutch wasn't sure of the location yet – Dobey had told him it was safer that way. When Hutch had told his partner that little snippet, the brunet had hit the roof. In a way, he still hadn't calmed down. It was bad enough that the man Hutch was guarding was the guy who'd caused Starsky's injury (in a roundabout sort of way). To add on top of that the fact that Hutch would be at an unknown location, on his own, and there was not even a telephone left the curly haired man seething inside. And yet although Hutch could tell Starsky was still angry, the brunet refused to let his buddy see just how much. Whilst they were partners and friends first of all, they were still cops – professionals, and with that professionalism came the reality that, come what may, there were times when life got a little too dangerous.

Hutch sat in the car as Starsky put his hand on the door handle.

'Have you got everythin' you need?'

Hutch looked out of the window. 'Apart from you, yeah.'

Starsky stopped. 'Is that meant to make me feel better coz just for the record, it don't.'

Hutch grinned. 'Sorry buddy. I hate this as much as you do. Yeah, I've got everythin'.'

'Tell Monty to go to hell. Tell Dobey to find someone else. Better still, just feed the slimy little shit to the wolves and stay home.'

Hutch snickered. 'Believe me, if I could I would. I hate this sucker as much as you do, but we both know that isn't an option.'

'It's not too late. My arm's getting' better. I could….'

'Starsk don't. Please, just don't. We've been through all this and we both know you aren't fit. By the time this fuckin' job is done we can get back to normal, but right now I have a job to do and so do you. I want my partner back, whole.'

'I know, but this sucks. Is Gee good enough? He can't read you like I can.'

'Starsk no one can read me like you, but I'm not exactly gonna be dodging bullets in the city. I'm in the hills with trees and bugs and no TV or phone.'

'When you put it like that' Starsky smiled. 'Maybe you should go on your own.'

The blond man grinned. 'See, I knew you'd see it my way.'

Starsky fiddled with the corner of his sling. 'Ok well then um….. see ya?'

'Three days buddy. Three days then I get a day off while Roy babysits. Not long.'

Starsky got out of the car and bent down to talk through the window. 'Long enough. I could be fit by then. I could…..'

'STARSK!'

The brunet sighed. His arm was aching again and the damned pills they'd given him at the hospital didn't seem to touch the pain. He longed for one more dose of morphine, just to take away the nagging ache and let him sleep, but most of all he wished he could turn back the clock and dodge that bullet. 'See ya then. Be careful.'

Hutch grinned. 'Always. See ya.' He put the car into drive and pulled away, not trusting himself to look in the rear view mirror at the figure standing on the sidewalk watching him go.

Hutch followed the directions Dobey had given him up the narrow two lane road leading up into the hills. He'd turned off the canyon road miles back and had driven through pine forests whose boughs dappled the blacktop with shadow, their branches meeting above the road and forming a cool, green tunnel through which the car plunged.

If it hadn't been for the job, the blond man would have enjoyed the drive. It was cooler up here in the mountains behind the city and the air was sweeter away from the smog. It reminded him of the hiking trips he used to take with his Dad and his Granddaddy. Those were the times when Hutch felt closest to the great Dr Hutchinson, when his Dad let down his guarded ways and simply enjoyed being "Dad". They were happy times for the blond, when being clumsy meant nothing and having a stammer didn't matter because he could lose himself in the wilderness, take himself off to a quiet place by a lake and dream.

Today with the sun beaming down and with the cool mountain air coming in through the open window, Hutch felt alive. Starsky would be fine, he told himself. It's only three days until he could go back to the city and check on his partner. Huggy would look after him in the mean time. If it wasn't for having to be in the same building as Vic Monty, this assignment might just have been what the doctor ordered for the tired cop.

Hutch brought himself out of his daydreams as he saw the turning down to the cabin. The narrow track was almost overgrown, but there was evidence that cars had recently been that way and he turned his battered LTD up the track, bouncing along the pitted surface through dense undergrowth until suddenly the land evened out and the trees cleared and there, in the middle of a clearing, stood the log cabin.

It was a perfect place for a safe house. The cabin stood centrally in a half acre lot cleared of trees. In its raised position it had views all around and from the porch, the road coming up the mountain could be glimpsed through the trees. Defensible, beautiful and with a small lake to the left hand side of the property, it was almost idyllic. Until Roy Gee came out to meet Hutch, followed by a tall, thin man with a greasy comb-over, a nose hooked like the beak of a falcon and two of the smallest, beadiest eyes Hutch had ever seen.

Vic Monty.

So this was the man that had been the bane of Hutch's life for so long. He'd never seen Monty, although for some reason he'd always pictured him as being smaller and maybe fat. Amazing what imagination will do!

The blond cop pulled his car to a halt and got out as Gee walked over to meet him.

'Welcome to Camp Paradise!' he said quietly. 'How's Starsky?'

'Mad as hell he couldn't make the party. How's things here?'

From the porch, Monty waved the two men over. 'Welcome! Welcome detective Hutchinson. Can I get you a drink? Iced tea…coffee…..a beer?'

Hutch glanced at Gee and sighed. 'Nothing' he said icily.

Monty ignored the comment. 'Well at least come inside. It gets chilly up here in the hills. Come along and I'll show you around. Make yourself at home.'

Hutch followed Monty into the cabin. He paused on the porch to look around, his eyes scanning for places where a sniper could hide, or blind spots he would need to give his attention to. There were mercifully few – the men who'd cleared the immediate area were professional and thorough. With a final glance, he followed as Monty opened the door and lead him inside.

The place was not exactly rustic living. Inside the walls were polished to a high gloss, the floorboards covered with colourful rag rugs. The main living room opened out onto a large, well equipped kitchen and doors off the main room lead to three good sized bedrooms and a bathroom. Comfortable sofas occupied the main space in the living room and whilst there was no TV, there was a whole wall of books. If it hadn't been for the tall, greasy man Hutch was to guard, it would be perfect.

The tall man in question stood by Hutch's side. 'I thought you might like to take that bedroom Detective. And as we're going to be close for a while, what do I call you?'

Hutch gave him a withering look. 'Detective will do fine.'

'Don't you have a first name? Um….Ken, isn't it?'

'I came as part of your deal, so you obviously know that.'

'Ok, so, Ken it is. And um…..how is Detective Starsky faring? I hope he's recov….'

Monty's words were cut off as Hutch wheeled around and slammed the man against the wall, his arm across Monty's throat. He'd tried to be civil, he'd tried to hold in his anger, but Vic Monty's attitude of bonhomie was too much and the mention of Starsky's name was the final straw.

'Listen punk. My partner would have been here if it wasn't for you. He almost died because of you and he's never even met ya! I don't want to be here, just for the record. If it was up to me, I'd set ya out in the square in the city centre and I'd feed you to the rest of the low lives out there. The shame of it is I'm a cop and I have a conscience and I also have a boss who ordered me to come up here and guard your sorry ass. So don't try to be friendly, don't make out like you even care about Starsky …..in fact don't even open your fuckin' mouth unless I ask a direct question. Maybe then…..maybe….we can keep this tolerable for both of us.'

For a moment Monty stared into Hutch's angry crystal blue eyes, reading the depth of emotion behind them. For a second, the gangster opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, but at the last minute, he thought better of it and closed it again. Eventually he gave a brief nod and reluctantly Hutch let him go. Monty stood and took a shaky breath, straightening his shirt before a slow smile spread across his lips.

'That's the fire I like to see in my bullet catchers' he said smoothly. 'Now, was that iced tea, or coffee?'

Hutch swallowed down his anger, turned his back on Monty and headed out to the porch. Even being in the same house as the flake was going to be an exercise in anger control. This was going to be one long assignment.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Starsky glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time and saw the fingers had crawled around to 10:30. He'd woken just after dawn with his arm aching viciously. For a whole hour he'd tried to ignore the pain but it had finally beaten him into submission and he'd downed the two white pills with a glass of milk, just like the doctor had ordered. The codeine took the edge off the pain, there was no doubt, but they left him feeling at odds with himself and when he did sleep, his dreams were wacky, to say the least.

After the pills, Starsky had tried his exercises. They brought more pain, but this time it felt good. It was pain with a purpose and the brunet pushed himself hard – harder than he should have done- until drops of sweat collected on the curls around his forehead and dripped annoyingly into his eyes. It was worth it. By the end of an hour, Starsky could raise his left arm straight out in front of him and hold it there for a good 30 seconds. It wavered a little and the pull on the surgical scar on his back was mean, but he had his favoured firing stance back and it felt good.

He looked at his watch. 8:30. This was just about the time Hutch would come walking in through the door roaring that Starsky was late and Dobey was going to yell at them both again. The image was so strong in his head that for a second, Starsky looked up towards the front door, expecting it to open, although logically he knew the blond man was miles away, somewhere in the hills behind the city.

9:00. Starsky forced down some breakfast. He found that the pain meds gave him chronic pains in his gut if he didn't eat, but at the same time they took his appetite away. It was a vicious circle and he'd lost a good seven pounds since the shooting. He felt lean but he knew that any more weight gone would leave his ribs showing and that was never a good look for the ladies. During his sojourn with the Vietcong, he'd lost almost 20lbs and he always shuddered at the memory of the first time he'd seen himself in the mirror at the field hospital. His ribs had stood out like ploughed furrows in a field and his shoulder blades were so pronounced that they looked as though they would tear through his skin at any moment. It had been a low point in his life and not one he wanted to replay. With the memory hovering in the background, Starsky made himself two slices of wheat toast and covered them in some honey Hutch had bought him from a health food store. The sticky mixture tasted good, the honey fragrant and tasting a little of clover and other aromatic flowers. He forced both slices of toast down and finished with a pot of hot, black coffee.

10:00. The fifth time Starsky had examined his watch in the past hour. The living room and bedroom were tidy, his clothes neatly folded or in the laundry basket. His bed was made, the cushions on his sofa were plumped and even his dishes had been washed and put away. Starsky looked around and listlessly picked up a copy of Practical Photographer, leafing through the adverts on the first few pages to get to an article he'd wanted to read about the best type of macro lenses. For the first paragraph he read every word. The second paragraph he skimmed. By the end of the first column, Starsky was bored and slammed the magazine shut.

10:30. He'd been up and around for almost 3 hours and for 2hours 45 minutes he'd been as bored as hell. Starsky glanced once again at his watch and sighed. The place was clean and tidy, he couldn't face reading, there was nothing on the TV, his favourite music seemed to get on his nerves and he couldn't play his guitar because it hurt his arm too much. He thought about taking his camera to the park, but he couldn't quite lift the heavy hunk of metal and glass and keep it still long enough to snap a picture. Absently he kneaded at the ache and flexed his shoulder some. It was going to be a long day and this was just the first of many until he was signed back as fit to work.

10:45. Starsky had paced his small living room for the past five minutes and finally made his decision. The doctor had told him he shouldn't drive for at least two weeks, but hell, all he had to do with his left arm was steer occasionally and it wasn't like he was going to be dealing with any high speed chases. Starsky walked over to the closet by his front door, opened it, and took out his holster and gun. He wouldn't need his shield or his cuffs, not where he was going, but just putting the holster on again made him feel somehow whole, the weight of his Smith and Wessen hanging below his right arm at once comforting and at the same time reassuring. The straps of the holster rubbed at his wounds, but he ignored the smaller pain amongst the many larger ones. He looked in the small mirror and somehow, with the gun, he felt whole again. He always found it amazing what an affinity he had with that hunk of dark blued metal. A gun is a cop's best friend and if used properly it could diffuse a situation rather than let it escalate. Starsky had only ever used his weapon as a last resort –as a peacekeeper- but it felt good to have it back on, as though without it he had, in some indefinable way, been emasculated. Grabbing his car keys from the table by the door, the brunet closed his front door behind him, eased himself into his car and set off, ignoring the pains jabbing in his shoulder.

The drive too made him feel alive. Next to his gun, the other object that symbolised his job as a cop was his car. The shiny red Torino with the white stripe was the love of his life and he'd bust his bank account to pay for it after drooling over the huge car in the showroom for weeks. Then it had been plain Viper Red but Starsky wanted something more and he'd taken it straight around to Merles for the paint job. Ignoring the master painter's suggestion to paint a fire breathing dragon across the hood of the car, Starsky persuaded Merle to spray two tapering white stripes across both sides of the Torino and across the top by the rear window. Merle had accused him of lacking imagination and yet, when Starsky saw the car in all its completed glory, he'd been delighted. He ignored Hutch's comments that no self respecting cop would drive around in a car that advertised its existence quite like the Torino. The blond had cited his own inconspicuous rusted heap saying it "blended in". But for Starsky, this was the epitome of what a car was all about. The long hood, the shiny paint and the deep, throaty growl of the V8 engine were everything that Starsky had dreamed about as a boy, and he loved his Torino with a passion.

The huge car nursed Starsky through the drive down to the Metro. The steering was light for such a big vehicle and by using his knees to steer the brunet managed the 20 minute journey without too much drama although by the time he drew up in the parking lot, he was glad he hadn't decided to drive to the beach – a good half hour further.

Starsky eased himself out of the car and let himself quietly in through the side entrance to the big building, heading not up to the squad room, but down into the basement of the Metro, to the firing range. With his arm finally obeying most of his commands, Starsky had one final thing to prove to himself and to those doctors who'd said he would never be able to use his left arm and hand again.

Pushing open the door to the large room, Starsky paused, his nose wrinkling at the heavy smell of cordite and gun oil that always hung in the air. It was a familiar smell and it seemed to welcome him back.

It was 11.30 and the room was quiet. The only corridor currently in use was the one at the far end of the room and Starsky took a set of ear defenders and a set of safety glasses from the rack by the door and went to stand by the counter at the head of corridor number one. He took one of the paper targets with the outline of a man printed in black ink on it and hooked it onto the small overhead wire, pushing the button affixed to the side of the wooden partition so that the target travelled back down the corridor to a resting place about 50 yards away.

Emptying his gun and reloading with blanks, Starsky engaged the chamber and stood side on to the target. Carefully he raised his left arm, catching his breath at the pull of the movement against his torn muscles. With the added weight of the gun in his hand, his whole arm shook and it took a moment to still himself, letting the air out of his body until there was nothing but himself, the gun and the target. Starsky let off five shots in rapid succession before hissing in pain and almost dropping the Smith to the counter. The kickback from the gun had ricocheted up his arm and into his damaged bones, setting up a pain like fire across his shoulders and down his left arm. What was worst was that when he looked at the target, of the five shots he'd fired, only three had hit the paper silhouette and only one of those had clipped the very edge of the circular target over the outline's chest.

Starsky cursed. He'd always been an excellent marksman and this was intolerable. After calling Vic Monty and Max Durnat every name he could think of, in a mixture of Anglo Saxon, Yiddish and with a splash of Polish thrown in for good measure, Starsky reloaded and used his favoured firing stance. Square on to the target with his knees slightly bent and his left hand cupped in his right, he squeezed the trigger another half a dozen times until the pain in his shoulder reached screaming point. He almost dropped the gun again and stood with his back to the wooden partition, panting, his eyes closed as he fought the pain in his shoulder. The brunet didn't hear the firing master walk up, neither did he see the same man bring the target back on the little zip wire, but when he opened his eyes, he saw the man holding his target looking at the cluster of holes, three wide, two on target and one a bullseye.

'You're supposed to be on the sick list' Sergeant Kellerman said as he handed the target to Starsky.

'Ya don't say' the brunet replied though gritted teeth.

'Your shot's off.'

'You're a master of the blatantly obvious Walter.'

The sergeant grinned as though it was a compliment. 'How's the shoulder? I shouldn't really allow you down here till you're fit.'

Starsky pushed himself back from the wall he was leaning on. 'I am fit, it's just the fuckin' shoulder that aint. I needed to…I…'

'You needed to prove to yourself you could still take a shot' Walter said quietly. The older man had spent his life around weapons of just about every sort. He was a master marksman and there was little about guns and firing them that he didn't know. There was a joke that he'd only married the current Mrs Kellerman because her maiden name had been Colt, but Walter seemed to understand Starsky's need to prove himself. A cop who couldn't fire a gun was finished and, like Walter, Starsky had an affinity with weapons, handling shotguns and machine guns with the same finesse as he handled his trusty Smith.

Starsky shrugged his right shoulder – the left was too painful to move. 'Am I that obvious?'

'Yes.' The new voice came from the doorway and Starsky turned guiltily to see Captain Dobey walking towards him. The brunet managed to plaster a smile onto his face.

'Hey, Cap'n!'

'Don't "hey" me! What the hell are you doin' here?'

Starsky looked offended. 'Is that any way to greet your favourite man?'

Dobey made a show of looking around him. 'Who? I don't see him. What I do see is a fool who should be home resting.'

'Can we take this upstairs?' Starsky asked.

Dobey grunted. 'We can take it wherever, but at the end of the conversation you're goin' home.' he turned on his heel and Starsky winked at Kellerman and followed meekly behind as the big black man stomped out of the firing range.

Once back in Dobey's office, Starsky sat down on the chair opposite the Captain's desk, trying his best to stop his face from registering the knife like pains in his shoulder. He waited till Dobey had got himself a coffee and had sat down. 'Cap'n I want to get back to work.'

'In a couple of weeks' Dobey grunted.

'No, now. Hutch needs…..'

Dobey slammed his coffee down. 'Hutch needs to concentrate on his job. He doesn't need to have to worry about you.'

'Cap'n. Please. I'm goin' stir crazy. I need to get back to work. Fine, I understand if you don't want me workin' with Hutch on this one. To be honest I'd probably pull the trigger on Monty myself, but I gotta do sumthin.'

'You've gotta calm down and heal, that's what you gotta do.'

'I'm healin'. I had to prove to myself I could still shoot an' I can. Maybe not as good as I was yet, but I can defend myself. Other than the arm, I'm fine.'

'That's not what the doc says and you know the score Starsky, until the police surgeon tells me you're fit, you stay at home.'

The brunet ran his fingers through his hair. 'I just need one job. One little job. Aint there sumthin?'

'There's a ton of paperwork.'

'I'm a cop, not a secretary! I mean a real job.'

Dobey shook his head. He couldn't fault the curly haired man on his commitment and yet rules were rules and a little over a week ago, Starsky had been at deaths door. 'Go home son. Go home, rest, heal and maybe next week…'

Starsky got to his feet. 'Yeah, maybe next week' he said in a defeated voice. He reached for the door handle and paused. 'Promise me one thing. If you think of sumthin – anythin', give me a call huh? Otherwise I might just take a drive up the mountains and find Hutch all on my own.'

With that, Starsky closed the door behind him and walked down the corridor feeling every one of his 27 years and every movement in his aching and damaged shoulder.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Hutch rose and washed quickly. If it hadn't been for the man in the next room he would have enjoyed waking to the sound of birdsong in the trees close to the cabin. If it hadn't been for Monty he might have got on his old jeans, taken the little row boat and sat in the middle of the lake drowning worms for a while. There again if it hadn't been for Monty, he would have his partner with him.

Starsky.

For a while Hutch allowed himself to think about Starsky and wonder how the brunet was faring. In truth, Starsky would hate it up here. The smaller man had an aversion to all things "country" and was never happy unless he had a ready supply of black and white movies on the TV, a pizza shop around the corner and maybe a nice restaurant close by. Any mention of camping or the great outdoors made Starsky curl up in bed and feign death. His reason, he always said was that he'd had enough wildlife to last him a lifetime in Vietnam.

The blond cop sat on the edge of his bed. Was Starsky taking his meds? Was he eating properly? Was he….. Hutch snickered. _My God Hutchinson you sound more like his Mom than his partner. He'll be fine. Another couple of days on the codeine and he'll be as good as new._

Trying to convince himself that the curly haired man would be just great at looking after himself, Hutch pulled on his white shirt, stuffed his feet into his favoured suede boots and opened the door to face his first full day with Vic Monty.

Back in Bay City, the birds were coughing and the sun was pretty high up in the sky as the cream coloured Caddy pulled up outside the house at 2000 Ridgeway. The apartment seemed to be sleeping, the curtains pulled tight against the light of day and as Huggy Bear took the tray with the Styrofoam cups from the seat next to him and walked up the steps to Starsky's front door, he wondered what was going on. Starsky was never an early riser, that was for sure, but it was almost 10:15 and Huggy was doing what he'd promised Hutch he'd do. He was looking in on Starsky to make sure he'd been taking his meds.

The tall black man tried the door and found it locked. He peeped through the small diamond shaped window in the door, squinting past the distorting effect of the crinkled glass to see that the living room was empty, although the door to Starsky's bedroom was ajar.

Fumbling in his pocket for the spare key that Hutch had given him, Huggy let himself quietly into the silent house and laid the two coffee cups down on the table by the sofa. He stepped softly over to the bedroom door and looked in, peering through the gloom at the figure on the bed. Starsky was fast asleep, his good right arm flung out to the side whilst his injured left arm was held to his body. Without the bandages, Huggy could see the dark blue bruises and the neatly stitched and healed livid red scar beneath Starsky's clavicle. He winced at the thought of how much it would have hurt and was just about to tiptoe out and close the door when a sleep-befuddled voice from the bed stopped him.

'What time is it?'

'Daytime.'

'Early or late?'

Huggy looked at his watch. '10:20'

'What day is it?'

'Wednesday…..why?' It was only then that Huggy made out the empty bottle at the side of Starsky's bed. He picked his way over to it and picked up the empty bourbon bottle, holding it up to see the last dregs swilling around the bottom. 'Tell me this wasn't full last night.'

Starsky turned over in bed and let out a small pain noise. He rubbed at his shoulder and flexed his arm a couple of times. 'It wasn't full, no.'

Huggy walked over to the window and opened the curtains before opening the window a little. He heard a hiss behind him and turned to see Starsky squinting 'Let me put it another way. How much was in the bottle?'

'Enough' the brunet replied sullenly.

'More than half?'

'Are you my Mom or sumthin?'

'More than half?' Huggy persisted.

'Yeah, more than half' Starsky snapped.

'And that was on top of the pain meds?'

'They don't do nuthin. They don't take the pain away.'

'And they don't mix with the demon drink either my man.'

'It hurts Hug, and the only damned thing I could think of to make it go away was alcohol. So sue me!'

Huggy walked over to the bed. Starsky's usually twinkling deep blue eyes were dull and lacklustre. His face was pale and there was a sheen of sweat across his brow and cheeks. 'Still hurts, huh?' Huggy asked quietly.

'Like bloody toothache. It never goes away. It's there like a background noise, annoyin' and then, just for variety it starts like a knife an'…. Shit, I'm fucked.'

The black man sat down on the edge of the bed. 'Why not go back and see the nice lady doctor at the hospital? Maybe she can give you some stronger meds. I mean, that was no tiny scratch you had there so aspirin aint gonna do the trick.'

Starsky snickered. 'It's Codl…Cody….sumthin beginnin' with C and it's meant to make the pain go away. She said it was strong but it aint strong enough. As for goin' back there, I had enough of tubes and needles an' stuff to last a lifetime. I'm fine.'

'Yeah, and I'm as white as the driven snow.' Huggy looked at the curly haired man knowing that pushing Starsky into doing something was as pointless as telling the wind not to blow. The more he urged Starsky to get help, the more the brunet would dig in his heels and ride it out. Instead he changed tack.

'Coffee?'

That brought a genuine smile to Starsky's lips. 'You say the nicest things. There's a pizza somewhere, left over from last night.'

'You want me to put it in the trash?' Huggy asked innocently.

'Trash? Hell no. I was askin' if you wanted breakfast.'

'My body is a temple' Huggy answered with dignity.

'Uh huh. And what religion?'

The black man grinned. 'The religion of makin' money man, what else. Now, are you gonna prize your skinny white ass off of that bed, or would the big white Massa like Kunta Kinte to bring him his mornin' coffee in bed?'

Starsky looked at Huggy from under his eyebrows, darkly. 'Fuck you.'

Huggy grinned. 'So the finest Arabica coffee will be served within the halcyon halls of chez Starsky's living room. See you in there.'

In answer, Starsky threw the pillow right handed at Huggy's retreating back and sat up with a groan. The lanky barman had made him feel better – until he sat up and the pains started all over again. Slowly, Starsky started his exercises, ignoring the gnawing pains interspersed with knife-like jabs. Did it feel better than yesterday? Could he move it further? Difficult to say, but today was a whole new day and Starsky knew exactly where he was going to go…..and no, it wasn't back to the hospital.

Hutch sat on the large covered porch looking out at the surrounding woods. The place was alive with birdsong and a couple of times he'd seen squirrels launching themselves through the trees high above his head and had heard a stag bark in the distance. Through the boughs, he caught tantalising glimpses of the lake with the sun glinting on the bright blue water and with the temperature climbing above 80 the blond man longed for a boat and maybe a swim. If it was hot up here in the hills, god knew what it would be like down on the coastal plain and Hutch envied Roy Gee, his co-guard as he thought about the man maybe on the beach with his wife and his little girl instead of up here guarding this creep. With thoughts of Bay City came thoughts of Starsky. Again, Hutch found himself wondering about his partner and once again he took his half hunter watch from his pocket and glanced at the time.

2 o'clock. Starsky would be taking his second set of meds now and, Hutch hoped, taking it easy, although that was a forlorn hope. Starsky never did things the easy way and for the hundredth time that day, Hutch wished there was a telephone in the cabin so that he could ring his buddy and check up on him. The fact that there was no phone was planned. Not only was a phone just another way for Monty's enemies to trace him, but the BCPD didn't entirely trust Vic keep himself to himself and a phone was a great way of carrying on his businesses until the last possible minute. Which left Hutch with just the police radio in his car, and the blond didn't think it would go down particularly well with Dobey if he was constantly asking Minnie to patch him through to his partner. No, Starsky would be just fine. Huggy had promised to go and see him, and after all, Starsky was a big boy and able to look after himself.

With that thought firmly in mind, the flaxen haired cop turned his mind back to the business in hand, and Vic Monty. He'd spent the morning trying to keep his distance from Monty whilst still guarding him. There was something about the slimy creep that put Hutch's senses on high alert although the cop couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was about Monty that he disliked – other than the fact that he was the root cause of Starsky being shot.

It definitely wasn't Monty's manners. They were impeccable. During breakfast – cooked by Vic himself, the gangster had tried to make polite conversation. He had passed toast and jelly, he'd solicitously filled up Hutch's coffee cup and had been more than attentive. When Hutch had reached for the cream, Monty had got there first and their hands had touched briefly. Hutch had recoiled as though he'd been zapped by an electrical current. Monty's hand was warm…..and had seemed to linger longer than was necessary before withdrawing. The blond cop had brushed off the shiver that ran down his spine, but after that, he kept his distance even more – which was why now, in the heat of the afternoon, he was sitting sweating on the porch whilst Monty remained cool as a cucumber inside.

Suddenly there was a yell from inside the cabin. Hutch shot off his chair and kicked open the door in one fluid movement, rolling on his shoulder into the living room and coming to a kneeling position, his Colt pointed and cocked, ready. He didn't know exactly what he was going to find. The area around the cabin was cleared of all vegetation so that no-one could theoretically creep up to the place. But it was always possible – anything was possible and Hutch was ready. He looked around him and spied Monty with his back up against the cupboards in the kitchen, his face a picture of fright.

'Where?' Hutch hissed, his eyes taking in the seemingly empty room.

'He went in there' Monty whispered, pointing towards the bathroom.

'How many' Hutch said softly.

'One. Maybe two.'

'Ok, stay put.'

With his gun still held ready, Hutch got to his feet and tiptoed silently to the door of the bathroom. He heard a small noise inside and decided that surprise was the way to go. With his heart beating hard, knowing that he had no back up, the blond let out a roar of 'Police, freeze' as he kicked open the bathroom door and crouched in the doorway, aiming his Magnum fair and square at the heart of a small chipmunk that was busy trying to eat its way into a tube of toothpaste.

Hutch didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His heart hammered in his chest and he took a moment to ease his breathing back down to normal. He and the dangerous, toothpaste wielding rodent faced off and for a moment their eyes met. Hutch took a step forwards and the chipmunk relinquished it's meal of Colgate and bounded past the cop, making it's bid for freedom. Hutch let it go, holstered his gun and stood by the door, looking back at Vic Monty.

'That's what the yell was for?'

Monty remained pressed up against the cupboard. 'It startled me. You never know what they're gonna do. They carry rabies and god knows what else. We're in the hills with no medical help….and you're supposed to be guarding me. If it had bitten me…..'

Hutch snickered. 'It's got more taste than that Monty. Next time, screw the top on the toothpaste and unless some ninja warrior with a sub-machine gun and a bottle marked "poison" is standing over you, I don't want another sound. Is that clear? I'm goin' for a shower.'

Monty pushed himself up from the cupboard. 'You're going to leave me?'

'I'm goin' for a shower. It's in the bathroom. Right here. It's not Outer Mongolia.'

'But. What happens if someone heard me shout huh? What happens if they come get me while you're in there? Leave the door open.'

Hutch whirled around. 'WHAT?'

'Leave the door open. Then you can hear me if I need you.'

'You're crazy.'

Monty's face hardened. 'I may be crazy, but you're the guy paid to guard me. So humour me, and leave the door open.'

Hutch shook his head and padded into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. A moment later it swung wider and the blond saw Monty's hand. 'I said, leave it open.'

Shrugging, Hutch started to run the shower. He felt hot and sticky and had hoped he could escape his charge while he was in the bathroom for another couple of minutes. He tried to ignore the open door, slipped off his clothes and stood beneath the cool, powerful shower, soaping himself all over and scrubbing deliciously at his flaxen bangs. Engrossed in his washing, Hutch didn't notice Monty pull his chair around so that he could see the shower stall clearly. He also didn't notice that Vic Monty never took his eyes off Hutch's muscular body and thank god he didn't notice that the slimy dealer surreptitiously unzipped his pants and started to stroke the centre of his body.

Who would have guessed that Vic Monty, the most feared dealer in Bay City was also gay?

As Hutch turned off the water and, with his eyes full of soap fumbled for the towel, he was startled to feel a hand handing the rough fabric to him. At once, Hutch's eyes flew open and he used the towel to wrap around his waist, glaring at his charge.

'What the…..'

'Your towel dropped. I didn't want it to get soggy on the bathroom floor. See. That corner is all wet' Monty said and ran his hand down the front of towel draped around Hutch's middle. The hand pressed a little harder than was necessary and Monty grazed the front of Hutch's cock with his hand.

Immediately Hutch grabbed Vic's hand in his own, a vice-like grip around the dealer's wrist and pushed Monty backwards, out of the bathroom. He slammed the door in Monty's face and stood with his back to the door, panting. _Oh shit. Great. Just peachy Hutchinson! Trapped in the great outdoors with a guy you like marginally more than Hitler and he turns out to be a raving homo. Ok, ok, play it cool. Get your clothes on, call Dobey and get your ass out of here, before someone else gets your ass first._

With that chilling and nauseating thought running through his head, Hutch towelled himself roughly all over, dragged on his clothes and opened the bathroom door, ignoring Monty's gaze as he almost ran for the door and out to his car. Within moments he was on the radio to Dobey.

'Cap'n? Hutchinson. I want out. NOW.'

Dobey caught the sense of urgency in Hutch's voice and something else he couldn't quite identify. 'Why? Slow down and back up. Has something happened?'

The blond paused. Hell yeah, something happened, but what was he supposed to tell his Captain? _Oh, by the way Cap, but the guy I'm guarding wants to get into my pants?_ First, that sounded so lame when he said it out loud, and second, if that titbit got to be common knowledge in the squad room, then he would never live it down. Hutch paused.

'Hutchinson? What's going on?'

'I um. I'm worried about Starsky.' There. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't gonna get him a ticket out of here either.

'He's fine. I talked to him yesterday.'

'I need more backup up here. I um….we had an incident and it just shows I need more backup.' Hutch could almost hear Dobey sitting up straighter in his chair.

'Incident? What? Who?'

Shit! How could he tell his boss that he'd pulled a gun on a chipmunk? 'It um…..well it was a false alarm but there needs to be two of us up here.'

'It's not like you to get so rattled Hutchinson. Gee will be back there tomorrow. In the mean time, hang in there. Keep your eyes open, but this is the safest place we could think of to put Monty. Word on the street is that they know Monty is out of circulation, but no-one knows where and with a city slicker like Vic, the last place they'll look is in the hills. Cool it. Spend some time relaxin'. See this as a break, huh? Maybe you should get to know Monty. The lord knows, you may actually like the guy. See you tomorrow.'

The radio went dead and Hutch stared at it. _Get to know the guy_ he muttered. Over my dead body. Shit Starsk, if ever there was a time when I needed you, buddy…..


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The object of Hutch's worry sat down at his desk at the Metro in the quiet of the deserted squad room and stared at the pile of files on the corner of the table. Top of the pile was a buff coloured folder headed "Durnat – Maximillian". Reluctantly the brunet pulled the papers, opened the file and stared down at the picture of the back room of the restaurant. There was blood everywhere – his own blood- and the sight of it nauseated Starsky. He had a sudden and very clear flashback of sitting propped up against the old sofa, cushions behind his head as he waited and listened for Hutch in the next room, and that same old feeling of utter helplessness welled up inside. His heart beat faster and the pain started up in the cop's shoulder until he slammed the file shut and rested his head in his hands.

Starsky closed his eyes. This wasn't like him. He had always taken the rough with the smooth. He'd always known that police work was dangerous and he'd always trusted his partner to watch his back, just as he watched Hutch's back. That was the way they worked and that was the way they'd kept alive through all their previous jobs. They'd dodged bullets, they'd survived flakes who wanted them dead and they'd come through. In fact, if Starsky was truthful with himself, they'd come to think of each other as charmed – almost bullet-proof. Until now.

One single piece of lead (well two if he counted the one that had nicked his head). That was all it took to cause so much pain and to make him think for the first time about his own mortality. One single, tiny slug and suddenly he was bleeding out onto Theresa DeFusto's floor and fighting for his life. One ugly piece of lead and now Starsky was, for the first time in his life, wary of the job.

The brunet took a deep, shaky breath and scrubbed his right hand through his curls. _C'mon Starsk! Get your act together boy! You're not dead. You made it. You're gonna be fine. Uh huh. This time. But what about the next time some flake waves a gun in your direction? How're ya gonna feel then? Will you be able to think? Will you be able to do the job? Will you be able to watch Hutch's back?_

The words echoed around his head until panic completely filled Starsky's gut. He felt useless and knew he had to get back out there sooner rather than later, if he was ever going to make it at all. But how could he test himself when Dobey wouldn't allow him to set foot on that mountain? How could he find Hutch? Unless there was something… There was only one way to find out and with that Starsky pushed himself away from the desk, straightened and pushed the door to Dobey's office open. The room was empty – as Starsky had known it would be. The Captain had been called to the weekly meeting, which meant he'd be away for another hour or so. Plenty of time for Starsky to do a little professional snooping, in the name of sanity.

Closing the door quietly behind him, Starsky walked softly over to the big desk. It was, as usual, covered in files in three slightly wonky piles. One was for jobs finished that just needed a quick check over before signing off, one was for jobs in progress and one was for possible surveillance jobs. It was the middle file that Starsky was interested in and taking another cautionary look around him, he sat down in Dobey's chair and started to search through the pile. He recognised some of the names there. As with any jobs, there were certain names that turned up time after time whilst others were new to the patch. Around about the middle of the pile, and buried beneath the other mountain of paperwork was the file the brunet had been searching for. Starsky pulled it to the top and opened it. If Dobey wouldn't tell him where Hutch was, then he was going to find out one way or the other. Starsky admitted that he needed to prove to himself that he was as good as ever because the bullet had taken more than a chunk of shoulder away – it had taken his confidence too.

The curly haired cop opened the file and read the first sheet of paper.

Victor Ignatius Montgomery A.K.A Vic Monty

Born Chicago May 10th 1922

Dealer in cocaine, heroin, LSD

Known dealer in small arms

Wanted for the murders of:

"Tiny" Joe White

Elmo Vittorio

Hank "Fishbait" Harris

Henry Hunt

Also wanted for questioning in connection with

The murders of:

The Crayfish Gang

Cesar Montalban

Amongst others.

Status:

Currently under house arrest

First Court hearing: To be arranged

Starsky let his eyes flit over the front page, snickering slightly at the dealer's middle name. Obviously Monty came from a good Catholic background and the brunet wondered idly what Vic's Mom would think of the career path chosen by her child. The cop's eyes rested on the bottom of the page – status: under house arrest. That could only mean house arrest with Hutch in charge and with a growing sense that he would soon be reunited with his partner, Starsky flicked the page over quickly, only to read the words on the next page with anger.

**Nice try Starsky. Did you think I'd be stupid enough to give you the safe house location?**

**H Dobey.**

For a moment Starsky was stunned. He didn't know whether the laugh out loud that his Captain knew him so well, or whether to be angry that Dobey didn't trust him – although on reflection, Dobey was right not to trust him. He slammed the folder closed just as the door to the office opened.

Starsky looked up guiltily. 'Cap'n.'

'What the fuck are you doin' behind my desk?' Dobey roared.

'Nuthin.' Starsky was aware he looked like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

'Nothin' huh?' Dobey walked over to the desk and snatched the file from the cop. He opened it. 'Vic Monty's file, huh? And you just happened to be looking at this because…..?'

'Because I want a job again. Cap'n I'm fit. Ok, I can't shoot a gun as well as I could, but it's comin' I can shoot straight enough to ward off any flake who comes within a hundred yards of Monty. Hutch needs backup.'

'Hutch has got backup. Roy Gee is his back up. Are you sure it's not Monty you want to shoot?'

Starsky sighed. 'You know what I mean Cap. Please. I'm goin' stir crazy at home. I need sumthin to do – anythin'.

'You have your physio and you need your rest. You know the score Starsky. I can't put you back on the roster until you're signed back as fit by the police surgeon and he tells me it's gonna be at least another two weeks.'

'Two weeks! I'll be a candidate for Cabrillo State in another two weeks.'

Dobey snickered. 'Some would say you'd fit right in just as you are.'

'Point me at 'em. I'll shoot 'em' the brunet muttered darkly.

'Yeah, in two weeks, when you're healed. The armoury said you were down on the range yesterday. It's a no go area Starsky. Not till you're fit, you hear me?'

'Loud and clear, but I don't get it. That means two weeks at home and then another while till I get back up to speed with my gun. I can kill two birds with one stone and….'

Dobey's expression softened. 'We aren't talkin' birds and stones son. We're talking central city, flakes with a grudge and bullets. You've already had a taste of what they can do. Now go home, rest and don't come back till the surgeon says you can. Do I make myself clear.

'Crystal' Starsky snapped. 'But I…..'

'But nothing. Get out of my office, and stay out. Go. Now.' Dobey pointed to the door and by the look on his face, even Starsky realised that it was no use arguing further. With a sense of defeat, the brunet walked out of the door and slammed it behind him. The childish gesture made him feel marginally better and he picked up his jacket, checked his car keys and headed back to his Torino.

'Do you want mayo with your salad detective?' Monty's voice came from the kitchen and floated out onto the porch. Hutch sighed. He'd spent another uncomfortable night with the slimy dealer and had gone to the extreme of wedging a chair beneath the door handle of the bedroom door – just in case. In close proximity, however, it was impossible not to endure Vic's company at some point in the day and as usual, Monty was trying to make life as comfortable for the cop as he could. Right now that meant omelette with side salad and a home baked cake to follow. Vic Monty could certainly cook!

'No' Hutch replied, shortly. He looked at his watch again and saw the fingers had crawled around to 4:30. Another hour and he could escape for a day, down into the city to see Starsky whilst Roy Gee took over.

'Are you sure? No salad is complete without mayonnaise.'

'I'm fine. No mayo…thanks' the blond added. Monty appeared at the door of the cabin with a plate in his hand. 'Will you eat out here, or shall we be civilised and eat at the table?'

This was the time when Hutch should have told him that there was civilised and there was civilised and Hutch didn't do the "let me get into your pants routine" and yet, when he thought long and hard about it, as he had been doing for the best part of the day, Hutch didn't know what to say, and certainly didn't want to say anything out loud. If it wasn't said, then it never happened and that was fine in the blond's world. Reluctantly he stood up. 'Table's fine.'

Monty stood back to let Hutch go into the cabin and watched appreciatively as the tall, slim cop pulled out a chair and sat down. He followed Hutch in and set the plate down in front of him.

'The sun has bleached your hair' Monty said, raising his hand to try to rake his fingers through Hutch's flaxen bangs. Hutch ducked out of the way and caught Monty's hand in his own fist.

'Enough of this. I wasn't gonna say anythin' but….. I don't swing that way and I'd appreciate you keepin' your distance – maybe Texas would be far enough. I didn't want this job, it was forced on me. I never wanted to come up here and babysit the guy who was the cause of my partner bein' shot, but I take my job seriously and so here I am. I don't want "friendly"; I don't want to be within touching distance of you. What I really want to do is put up a sign sayin' "Vic Monty is here and it's a dollar a shot" but I'm a good cop. Now you can either ask my Captain for someone else to look after your slimy little ass, or you can keep your distance, keep your mouth shut and be invisible. Do I make myself clear?'

Monty's eyes shone. 'Your eyes are beautiful when they're angry' he said smoothly. 'How is that partner of yours? Is he out of the hospital yet? It was so good of him to take my bullet, I really should thank him personally but….'

Hutch's temper snapped and he stood up so suddenly that the chair he'd occupied fell over with a crash. He grabbed Monty by the neck and as the dealer backed up he tripped over the corner of one of the rag rugs and fell to the floor with Hutch following him down. It took all of Hutch's willpower not to squeeze his hands harder around Vic's throat. The vision of seeing Vic's eyes bulge was clear in Hutch's mind as he stared down into the watery eyes beneath him, but as well as seeing terror in Monty's eyes, Hutch saw something else, something he couldn't quite define, until he realised that, straddling the dealer as he was, he could feel something large and lumpy at the centre of Monty's body.

_Oh my God! Great….. just fuckin' peachy_ Hutch thought to himself as he sprang up from Monty's body like a marionette pulled up by strings. That was what he'd seen in Monty's eyes. Fear, but also desire. Not only did Monty have a liking for blond cops in general and ones named Hutch in particular, he also liked it rough.

Hutch stood up and with as much dignity as he could muster walked from the cabin and ran to the sanctuary of the car where he got in, put up the windows and locked the door. He felt dirty – soiled in some way and as he looked in the rear view mirror, he saw Monty standing at the door, Hutch's plate once again in his hand. When Roy Gee's car hove into view down the dirt track, Hutch thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful in the whole of his life. He did the quickest handover on record, told Gee to watch his back, although he refused to elucidate, got into his LTD and in a cloud of dust, gunned the engine back towards the city….and sanity.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

David Starsky was experiencing some insanity all of his own. He'd come home from the Metro feeling dispirited and had set about doing his physio with a vengeance. He did it to prove two things. The first was simple – that he could make his injured arm and hand move as he wanted it to, and the second was more complicated, even to Starsky. In some way he felt that the more pain he experienced, the quicker his wound was healing and so he pushed his body harder and harder. There was no logic to his decision, in fact as he gritted his teeth and stifled a groan, he knew that his thinking was faulty, but he continued anyway.

At the end of an exhausting hour, the brunet was soaked in sweat, his arm throbbed mercilessly and he was weary. Worst of all, he felt no better. His arm was improving slowly, although not fast enough for the curly haired cop. It wasn't until he looked back through the days that he understood that he could move his arm further today than yesterday, and that that had been further than the day before. However, there was one constant throughout his recovery so far, and that was the pain. Elsa had told him that he had nerve damage – that the surgeons had had to piece together bone and sinew and muscle to fix the damage done by the slug. As with any bullet wound, the entrance hole that Starsky could see at the front of his shoulder was tiny. At the other side of his shoulder, where the red hot piece of lead had torn its way through his body, it had slowed its velocity so much that it had not enough power to exit cleanly. As with almost all bullet wounds, it had left a huge exit wound, taking chunks of bone and flesh with it as it passed through Starsky's shoulder, leaving particles of clothing lodged inside him. In order to clean the wound efficiently, and to take away all the damaged tissue that could not be saved, the surgeons had had to cut more tissue away and then stitch together the rest. The result was a large wound that passed clean through from front to back and with the size of the wound came the pain.

Starsky reluctantly stopped his exercises only when his body rebelled so much that he had to run for the bathroom to throw up in the pan. He knelt and heaved until he had nothing more to give and then knelt with his forehead resting against the cool porcelain, panting through more spasms. It was his low point, the lowest he could go. He hurt, he couldn't work and he was alone. Maybe if Hutch had been there, he might have felt better. The blond man had a way of taking Starsky out of himself with his calm and his soft velvet voice. But Hutch was miles away, looking after some no good, gun toting creep who, in Starsky's opinion should have been fed to the sharks a long time ago. The brunet needed someone to talk to, anyone, and for a fleeting moment, he thought about phoning his Mom. Rachel Starsky was a firecracker of a woman who understood all too well the dangers of police work, having lost her husband to it years ago. With that in mind, Starsky couldn't bring himself to lift the phone and talk to her. She worried for him, he knew she did, although she kept her feelings under tight wraps when they spoke each Thursday. Even hurting as he did, Starsky refused to lay any more worry at his Mom's feet. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, wobbled into the shower and let the hot water pummel his weary muscles until it started to run cold.

A half an hour later, with his hair towelled dry and with his favourite butter soft, almost white jeans on and his favoured dark blue tee shirt with the collar and the little white square at the front, Starsky looked himself in the eye in the mirror. The pain meds he'd taken had done absolutely nothing to dull the pain in his shoulder and arm and it showed in his eyes. He snickered at his reflection, ran his fingers through his curls and exited his bathroom, knowing exactly where he could get some company and maybe something extra to take away the pain.

Twenty five minutes later, Starsky pulled his Torino into the alley at the back of the Pits and hauled himself out of the car. Opening the door to the bar he was met by a blast of warm, beer filled fumes and his ears were hammered by the pulsing beat of the disco in full swing in the corner of the dance floor. It was darker in the bar, the only illumination coming from the twirling disco ball above the dancing area and some strategically placed mood lights along the walls above the booths. It was almost like stepping back into the womb; dark, warm and noisy and Starsky made his way over to the bar feeling himself relax marginally. Huggy was working hard serving drinks, but he looked up and smiled as he saw his friend pull up a bar stool and sit down.

'Hey, Tessa, take over huh?' he told one of the women. She gave him a glare but said nothing and Huggy came over to join Starsky at the corner of the bar.

'What's new my man?' he asked, placing a beer down in front of the brunet. Starsky took it silently and downed it in one, slapping the empty glass back onto the bar top.

'Another' the brunet said. 'And a tequila shot.'

Without comment Huggy brought the requested drinks and watched as Starsky downed the shot in one and the proceeded to demolish the second beer.

'Is it that bad?' the barman asked.

Starsky didn't look up. 'And then some' he admitted.

'You need to talk?'

'I need to drink.'

'Did you take your pain meds and your antibiotics?'

The brunet looked up. 'Who the hell are you? My Mom? I came in for a drink and some company, not the second degree. Just gimme another shot. In fact to hell with the glass, just leave the bottle' Starsky snapped.

Huggy sighed but did as requested. At least Starsky was drinking in his bar. That way at least the Bear could keep his eye on the brunet and keep him from hurting himself too much.

Starsky stared morosely into the glass of beer. He didn't particularly want to fall out with Huggy. Hell, he'd come down to the Pits for some company and conversation and yet now he was down here, with his shoulder still aching like hell, he felt out of tune and longed for some peace and quiet. The alcohol didn't seem to be helping either, in fact the beer made him feel vaguely nauseous, although the tequila burned a fiery trail down his neck. Starsky reached for the bottle and poured another shot into the glass, this time sipping at it and allowing the bitter fluid to cleanse his guts.

From a distance Huggy watched the level in the bottle go down. Wisely, he allowed Starsky his space. He may not have had the connection with the brunet that Hutch did, but Huggy was attuned to his old friend's body language and right now it was a curious mixture of anger, hurt and something that looked suspiciously like loneliness. An hour and half a bottle of the Jose Cuirass later, Huggy tried again and walked over to stand by the cop.

'Feelin' better or would you and the bottle like to go somewhere a little more private?' he asked.

Starsky looked up, his deep indigo eyes dull and lifeless. 'Sorry Hug. I thought I wanted company and I guess I made the wrong choice.'

Huggy threw up his hands in mock surprise. 'The great Dave Starsky wants peace and quiet! My God you're turning into your partner.'

'Shudup Huggy.'

'I am merely sayin', my friend, that your skinny white ass aint usually so sorry for itself.'

'Maybe this time I got a right to feel sorry for myself.'

'Uh huh. I can see that. I mean anyone who caught a bullet and survived is gonna feel mad as hell that they lived.' The sarcasm was heavy in the air between them and was not lost on Starsky. He felt an unnerving need to hit out at someone – anyone and yet he knew his friend was trying to shake him out of his black mood. Starsky gripped the bottle tighter. 'Not now Huggy.'

Huggy tried to take the bottle from Starsky grasp. 'Yes now. You're hurtin'. I can dig that, but don't pull away. And don't get down home and cozy with Mr Al-co-hol either.'

Starsky tightened his grip on the bottle. 'I need sumthin.'

'You need to go home and relax.'

'Don't tell me what to do Hug. I know what I need.'

'Hutch is doin' just fine.'

The brunet snickered. 'And that's supposed to make me feel better. Cut the crap Huggy, you'd make a lousy shrink.'

'That, my man, is why I am but a lowly bar tender. Gimme the bottle.'

'No'

'Yes.'

Suddenly Starsky's feelings burst out of him and without thinking he raised his left hand and took a swing at his friend. Had it been his right hand; had it been his left arm after it had healed, Huggy wouldn't have stood a chance, but with his slightly limited movement and slower reflexes, Starsky was marginally slower than usual and it allowed Huggy to catch Starsky's fist in his hand and stop him from connecting. For a heartbeat they stood almost eye to eye, Starsky's angry blues boring into the soft, soulful brown eyes of his friend. The room around them had gone quiet, although the disco music still blared. All eyes were turned to the two men. Finally it was Starsky who backed down first and sat back down on the bar stool, staring at the bar top.

'M sorry.'

'It's ok. I get it. You're hurt.'

'But I shouldn't have…. Just give me another drink huh?' Starsky said in a small voice.

'You've had enough.'

The brunet looked up. 'Want me to take another swing?' he said with a trace of humour.

'I'm hellish good at ducking.'

'The drink?'

The black man sighed and pushed the tequila closer. 'Well don't blame the black man in the morning.

As the Bear turned his back and went back to calming the clients in the bar, a girl from one of the back booths stood up, smoothed down her short skirt and walked purposefully over to the bar. She'd seen the commotion and loved dark and dangerous men. She stood by Starsky, close enough that he could smell cheap perfume. There was a moment's silence.

'Hey' she said quietly.

'Hey yourself' Starsky did a quick assessment of the woman. She was small, no more than five feet tall and waif-like slim. She wore a short skirt that barely covered the essentials and a white tank top cut low at both the front and the back. It was obvious she wore nothing underneath. She was also very young.

The girl smiled. 'I'm Tammy. Would you buy me a drink?'

For a moment the cop in Starsky rose up and he was about to ask whether she was old enough. Instead he nodded his head. 'Sure. What's your poison?'

'Whatever you've got there' she said, nodding towards the bottle.

Starsky poured some tequila into his glass and pushed it over to the girl. She took it, sniffed it and then downed the shot in one. She coughed and spluttered and then held out the glass.

'Another?'

Starsky snorted. 'I don't think so.'

'Something else then?'

'What?'

'Do you want to do something other than drink? We could….. ya know….'

The brunet took a real good look at the girl. She couldn't have been more than 16 or 17 although she'd tried to age herself with makeup. 'You don't even know my name.'

She giggled. 'Does it matter?' She moved closer and ran her hands up Starsky's thigh, high enough that she could tell that he wouldn't take much persuading.

As her hand grazed the tight material over his cock, Starsky jumped as though he'd just had a jolt of electricity and suddenly his brain travelled due south and lodged firmly in his groin. Why not have some fun? He'd not stalked her, she'd come over to him. She asked first and it wasn't polite to refuse a girl, was it? Maybe this would take his mind off the need to fight anyone and everyone in the room. 'I guess not.'

'So' she giggled, 'Wanna come outside?'

Starsky wiggled his eyebrows, his inhibitions washed away on a flood of tequila. 'I'll cum anywhere you want' he said and stood slightly unsteadily.

From the corner of his eye, Huggy watched the young prostitute at work. Dammit! If he wasn't spoiling for a fight, Starsky was going to ruin himself some other way.

Starsky stood up, feeling the effects of the drink not only in his balance but also in his bladder. He smiled. 'Just gotta go and um….make myself comfortable.'

'I thought that's what I was going to do' Tammy said gently.

'In a minute honey. All the best things are worth waiting for.'

'And are you the best?'

The brunet grinned. 'You can tell me later.' A little unsteadily, Starsky set off for the bathrooms as Huggy walked quickly around the bar and grabbed the girl by the arm. She looked a little scared.

'I didn't do nothing.'

'And you aren't going to' Huggy snapped. 'I told you before about coming in here.'

'I only wanted to make enough for some food.'

Huggy looked around, fished in his pocket and brought out a $20. 'Here. Knock yourself dead somewhere else huh? Right now.'

Tammy took the note and pushed it into the waistband of her skirt. For a moment she thought about the handsome man she'd just propositioned. In truth she would have done him for free because he wasn't the normal type who needed her services, but dollars were dollars and if she went to the next bar, maybe she could make some more. With a final backwards glance, she flipped a cheeky wave at Huggy and disappeared out into the night. When Starsky came back minutes later, he looked around unsteadily for her.

'She had to go' Huggy said.

'Where?'

'Who knows? Look, it's almost closing time. Let's go upstairs, I'll brink a fresh bottle and we can talk, huh?'

In truth Starsky didn't think he could have performed adequately for Tammy anyway. The effects of the alcohol were multiplied by the antibiotics he'd taken and the pain meds he was on and he felt far more drunk than he should have done from half a bottle of tequila. He nodded blearily and leaned heavily on Huggy Bear as the two men made their way up the stairs to Huggy's private room on the top floor. The bar tender fumbled with the door and then manoeuvred the two of them through the opening with a struggle. Huggy let Starsky down gently on the bed and went into the small bathroom to get glasses. He was gone for no more than a minute, but when he returned he found Starsky curled up on his pain free right hand side, his eyes closed and soundly asleep.

Gently Huggy pulled the cover over the sleeping brunet and looked down at his friend. 'No stayin' power, that's your problem' he muttered softly. 'You are surely one hell of a mess Bro' Huggy sat down on the old chair opposite and poured himself a shot of bourbon.

Across town Hutch had driven quickly off the mountain. With each passing mile, the blond cop had felt more relaxed as though distance somehow made Vic Monty's advances less real. What was it with the dealer? And who would ever have thought that the head honcho of Bay City was a gay? If that little scrap of information got out, what would it do to Monty's empire. Whilst Hutch usually had no problems with gays, Vic's advances had in the close confines of the cabin made their differences all too clear and Hutch felt somehow soiled. He needed to escape and he needed to focus his attention somewhere else. Of course there was only one place he needed to focus right now and eschewing his own place, he drove another stop down the freeway and drove straight around to Ridgeway.

It was almost midnight by the time the blond cop pulled up outside 2000. The place was in darkness, but at that time of the night, it wasn't unusual. Hutch felt absurdly sentimental, but even just making sure Starsky was asleep would make him feel a little better. He closed the car door quietly, took the steps up to the front door two at a time and pushed his spare key into the lock.

Inside, the apartment was quiet and dark. It was the same tidy place it had always been but it also felt empty, the way that houses feel when there should be someone at home, but there isn't. Hutch felt that feeling straight away and his heart did a few extra blips as he crossed the living room to the bedroom and opened the door quietly. The bed was empty, the covers straight, showing that no-one had slept in it. Not even neat-freak Starsky would make his bed if he got out to go to the bathroom.

A thousand scenarios ran through Hutch's head. Starsky was sick again; Starsky had been kidnapped; Starsky was laying injured in an alley somewhere.

_Pull yourself together Hutchinson! He can't have gone far, he's still recovering. Think. Where would you go? The hills? Yeah and Starsky would so love a camping trip. Ok, think like Starsky. Do I have to? Uh huh. Think._

Hutch reached for the phone and on impulse called the Pits. It was a hunch that paid off and a woman's voice answered, sounding tired and sharp.

'The Pits. We're closed.'

'Tessa, honey. It's Ken Hutchinson. Is my partner there?'

The woman's voice softened. She liked the two men. Although they were cops they didn't act like it for most of the time. 'Hey Hutch. Sure. Starsky is upstairs with Huggy. I think they're having an all nighter. Starsky looked like he needed a break.'

'Can you put me through to Huggy?'

There was a whir and a few clicks on the line and then Huggy's voice, sounding subdued and quiet. 'The Bear.'

'Hug? Is Starsky ok?'

'Hutch, my man. I thought you were away on some top secret mission.'

'I got a break. Is Starsk there?'

Huggy snickered. 'He is, as we say, incommunicado.'

'What?'

'He's sleepin'.'

'But he's ok?'

Huggy sighed. 'Starsky and ok are never two words you put together, but in Starsky world right now, things aren't so good.'

'I'm coming over' Hutch said down the phone and replaced the receiver quickly. At the other end of the line, Huggy was left looking at his own phone. 'Be my guest' he muttered and phoned down to Tessa to leave the door on the latch.

Twenty minutes later, the blond pulled up in the alley behind the Pits, next to the shiny red Torino. He got out, made his way through the darkened, deserted bar and up the stairs to the room on the top floor. Hutch tapped on the door and went in as Huggy put his finger to his lips and shushed.

'He's been sleepin' for the past hour, but it's like he's havin' nightmares or something. He certainly aint resting.'

Hutch crossed the room and stood watching his buddy. Starsky's body twitched occasionally and his hands clawed as his face contorted in pain. 'How's he been?'

'Un-Starsky-like. Quiet, snappy. He took a swing at me tonight.'

The blond raised his eyebrows. 'Did you deserve it?'

'For serving him the best tequila in the house?'

'Point taken. Has he said anything?'

Huggy poured Hutch a bourbon and the two men sat down. 'Only that he's bored, he hurts and he wants to get back to work. Apparently your Captain won't let him back.'

'Wonder why not' Hutch snickered. 'But I think I know how he feels. When you've been through something like that, it takes away your nerve. You need to prove to yourself that you've still got it, and you can't do that sitting at home watching re-runs of I Love Lucy.'

Huggy nodded. 'So what? You sneak him back to wherever you're workin'?'

'And watch him murder my charge? I don't think so, but there must be something.'

'You gonna ring your Captain?'

Hutch glanced at his watch. The fingers had crawled around to almost 2 in the morning and he snorted. 'I don't want to incur Edith Dobey's wrath. I'll wait till morning, before Rip Van Starsky wakes up. We can work something out.'

The blond got up from the chair and walked back over to the bed. He looked down at his buddy as though seeing him for the first time. Starsky's shoulder may be healing, but the brunet had lost weight and it showed around the waistband of his jeans, which usually fit snugly around his hips. Now there was room for movement and as Starsky's tee shirt had ridden up, his ribs showed clearer than they should have done. Tenderly, Hutch reached down and smoothed a curl away from the brunet's forehead.

'What'm I gonna do with you?' he asked softly.

'Hutch?'

'I'm here buddy.'

Starsky moaned again. 'Utch.'

Hutch leaned forwards towards his partner, his face a picture of worry. 'I'm here.'

Starsky's body seemed to relax marginally and although he didn't open his eyes a small smile played over his lips. 'Hutch….Beef…..with everythin'…to go.'

Huggy giggled. 'That's my boy!. How to ruin a special moment. He even dreams of food.'


	13. Chapter 13

**Part ii (the second bit)**

Starsky awoke slowly with the realisation that liquor wasn't as effective as drugs at relieving the pains in his body. His head ached, his mouth felt like the bottom of a budgie's cage and his shoulder continued to ache. For a moment he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling and wondered where he was and then he remembered; the girl, the booze and Huggy.

The brunet felt a warm sense of thankfulness that Huggy had been there when he needed him – and moreover had saved himself from making an idiot of himself with the hooker. Starsky had little recollection of getting up the stairs, neither did he remember getting into bed, or indeed much else after going to the bathroom in the bar downstairs and on reflex he searched around the room for a clock. Finally easing himself out of the bed, he padded over to his jacket that Huggy had thoughtfully put on the back of a chair and found his wristwatch.

Shit! It was going up for noon and he'd slept almost 12 straight hours. Not that he felt very much like he'd had any rest. His body rebelled against every move and his arm and shoulder were stiff and sore. Starsky collapsed down onto one of the easy chairs and was about to close his eyes when a piece of paper folded on the table next to the bed caught his eye. Hauling himself upright, the cop walked over and picked it up.

**Starsk.**

**Ring Dobey as soon as you get this.**

**You look crap.**

**See you**

**Hutch.**

Starsky's stomach did a little flip. Hutch had been here and he'd missed him. How long had the blond stayed? And how come he knew that Dobey wanted him to ring? Maybe the blond cop had finally persuaded their Captain to let Starsky rejoin his partner in guarding Vic Monty. A small upwelling of excitement started in Starsky's chest. Did this mean he'd soon be reunited with his partner? Stranger things had happened and with slightly shaky fingers, he reached for the phone and punched in the numbers to Dobey's line. The phone rang a couple of times and then picked up. A gruff voice snapped down the line.

'Dobey.'

'Starsky. I got a message sayin' you wanted to talk.'

The voice at the other end of the telephone softened slightly. 'How's it goin'?'

'It's fine. I'm fine' Starsky lied. 'But you didn't want me to ring to ask about my health.'

There was a snicker. 'You're not fine, but you'll do. I need to see you. In my office. In…..' there was a rustle and Starsky could picture Dobey looking at his wristwatch. 'Come by at 4.00.'

'Can't I come now? 4 is the shift change. Everyone'll be there, askin' questions and I don't feel like small talk.'

'Starsky, you listen to me…..' Dobey's voice rose, although there seemed to be little anger there, just exasperation. For the next quarter of an hour, the Captain talked almost non stop. At the end of the conversation, Starsky agreed to meet, put down the phone and sighed. He'd asked for a meeting. He'd pleaded for a job. What more could he do?

At the given time, David Starsky drew up outside the Metro, in his customary place at the front door. He got out, looked up at the building's impressive stone exterior and squared his shoulders. This was it - his last chance of a job to take his mind off of the boredom and pain. The brunet walked purposefully up the steps into his Headquarters and up to the second floor. On the way he was stopped by most of the staff, asking after his wellbeing or telling him he was looking good. It was a lie, he knew. He'd lost weight, his arm still hurt like hell and he'd not shaved for a day. He didn't feel good, in fact he felt bloody minded and itchy to get something to do.

The squad room was full, as he'd anticipated and from the corner, DeFranco and his partner looked up. They'd partnered Starsky and Hutch on a couple of jobs and got on well with the curly haired cop.

'Hey, Starsk. Great to see you, man. What brings you back to this hell hole?'

Starsky forced a grin. 'Been summoned to the big bad wolf's house an' I don't think Red Riding Hood is hidin' inside.'

DeFranco shrugged his shoulders. Rather you than me man. Dobey's been like a bear with a sore head since lunchtime. If you and your balls want to keep together you're gonna have to mind your Ps and Qs. You have been warned.'

The door to Dobey's office opened and Starsky flipped a salute. 'Thanks. See you later.'

Dobey stood at his office door. 'I thought I heard you. Get your butt in here now' he snapped and Starsky scowled, but did as he was ordered. So this was how the meeting was going to happen. He'd hoped for a fond reunion. Maybe mention of a medal for bravery, a raise, a couple of days extra vacation when it came. Instead Dobey was indeed like a bear with a sore head and by the way he slammed the office door behind Starsky it looked like it was going to be a long meeting.

Starsky sat himself down in the chair opposite the desk and waited for the music. It didn't take long in coming and for the next five minutes, Dobey yelled at him solidly. By the end of it, Starsky's arm throbbed mercilessly, his head was beginning to join in and his temper was sky high.

Suddenly he'd had enough. This wasn't what he'd come for. He was hurt and his only crime was that he was eager to get back to work and he stood up suddenly and without speaking, walked over to the door and opened it.

'Where the fuck do you think you're goin'?' Dobey snarled.

'Away from this god awful place' Starsky snapped back. With the door open, the men in the squad room could hear everything and a hush descended on the outer office. 'I came here coz you asked me to. I even thought that maybe you'd asked me to come back coz you had a job for me. Call me crazy but I actually wanted to get back to work.'

'I don't want no second rate cop walkin' my streets. You go home, you heal and then, when the surgeon finally passes you, you come back. And this time, don't have your partner makin' requests for you. You now the score Starsky. It don't work like that.'

'Then explain it to me Captain. Tell me how it does work, coz from where I'm standing, I got the thin end of the wedge. It was me who got shot. It was me who ended up in a bleedin' mess on that floor and it was my partner and me who got through without any help from you or your wonderful team. As I recall, the only thing we did wrong was to be there at the wrong time. Hardly a crime, but you're treatin' me like a fuckin' criminal.'

'Because you're actin' like one' Dobey's voice was now at full volume.

'Am I? Then maybe its time to quit. I'm sick of your temper. I'm sick of the way you treat me like sumthin you stepped in on your way to the office. Maybe its time I left the force. I'm sick to fuckin' death of your petty foggin' rules and regulations. I had enough of that in the Army and I thought you were better than that. Turns out you're all the same. You blacks get a title under your belt and somehow you're all superior. Well I've had it.'

'Don't you bring colour into this.'

'Colour? I haven't even started.'

'Starsky I could have you arrested right here and now….'

The brunet stood facing his Captain, his back ramrod straight. 'Fuck you Dobey. I'll save you the trouble. I resign. I'll send my shield and gun back with Hutch, when I see him.'

'Don't you walk away from me. Starsky. STARSKY!' Dobey yelled and rose from his chair, but Starsky had had enough. He slammed the door to the office so hard that the fittings rattled and without a backwards look, he walked out of the squad room, out of the Metro and into a new life without the force behind him.

Back inside, there was silence for a moment and then DeFranco rose, walked over to the door and knocked. Dobey's voice replied. 'Yeah?'

The cop walked in, leaving the door open. 'I couldn't help but um….overhear Cap'n. Do you want me to go after Starsky? He's hurt and he's hot headed, you know that. He probably didn't mean to….'

Dobey fixed DeFranco with a stare that melted the cop like wax. '_**Mr**_ Starsky has made his choice and I'm not about to change his mind. Now, I believe you have work to do?'

DeFranco opened his mouth, saw the look on Dobey's face and thought better of it. 'Sure. Yeah' he muttered and backed out of the office. He'd done what he could, but Starsky was now on his own. The only thing DeFranco could think of doing was to post a note through Hutch's door and hope for the best.

Starsky raced out of the building, his heart thumping in time with the pain in his shoulder. Hell, that had been some ride, but there was no way that he could let Dobey talk to him like that without putting up some kind of show. "Behaving like a criminal? That's how Dobey saw him? Well maybe, just maybe that was how he should be. After all, it was the likes of Vic Monty who got the VIP treatment, up the mountain, living the life of safety and luxury whilst the rest of the world paid for his comforts. Who was the one who'd got it wrong all these years? Certainly not Monty and his entourage.

The brunet drove through the streets of the city, allowing himself to calm down. Dobey had had his say and now the whole squad room knew what had happened. He'd quit and by morning, there wouldn't be a cleaner or tea lady in the whole place who didn't know that Starsky was out of the force. Dave Starsky. Not Sergeant Starsky. Not Detective Starsky. Not even Starsky and Hutch. Just plain Dave Starsky, ex cop and now without a job.

By the time he got towards home, Starsky had calmed a little, but not a lot. In his head, he was formulating a plan. If he wasn't a cop then he could re-invent himself as something he'd always longed to be, but convention had never allowed. On impulse, Starsky turned the car away from Ridgeway and back down one of the side streets, looking for one of his favourite places. He drew up outside Merle's Autobodies and stared at the beautiful Harley Davidson XLH 1000 Sportster parked up just outside Merle's front door. With almost a spring in his step, Starsky got out of his Torino and took a critical look at it. The long, low, shiny red and white car had once been his dream. He still loved the inanimate hunk of metal with a passion, but it represented the old days – the police days- and it was so well known on the streets of Bay City that he would constantly be reminded of his previous life.

Making his decision, Starsky walked into the lot and hammered on the door.

'Hey, Merle. Get your skinny ass out here. You got a customer.'

Merle appeared at the door to the garage, wiping his hands on a paint covered rag. 'Well, if it aint my old friend Starsky. You've finally seen sense and want a proper paint job on your sad ass motor car?'

'Nope. Not a chance. She's perfect as she is, but I want you to look after her for a while.'

Merle frowned. 'Have that hunk of crap on my forecourt? Do I look like a want to lower the tone of my establishment?'

Starsky looked around at the parts of motors heaped around the place, surrounding completed and half finished paint jobs. He snickered. 'You can hide it round the back, maybe put a cover over her to shield her beautiful paintwork from the sun?'

'Does this mean you're lookin' for new wheels?' The master painter brightened visibly. 'I got this Buick. I'm gonna do this custom flame effect down the side with a….'

'I want the Harley' Starsky interrupted.

Merle looked appreciatively at the bike. 'It aint started yet. I have this pearlescent purple that shines red in different lights. I was gonna….'

'It's fine as it is. How much?'

'For you?'

Starsky nodded. 'I want a hard price. Cash.'

Merle nodded thoughtfully, came up with a price that Starsky immediately halved and after five minutes of strenuous haggling, both men were happy. They shook, Starsky tossed the Torino's keys to Merle, took the keys to the Harley and ran his hands over the machine lovingly. He pulled it upright, straddled the bike and gunned the engine, feeling the raw power throb between his legs, he let out the clutch and the beast rolled forwards.

'At least let me get you a custom helmet' Merle said. 'It's against the law to ride without one.'

Starsky grinned. 'Everything's against the law Merle. Keep the roof, I'm outa here. And if anyone asks, you aint seen me.'

Starsky twisted the throttle and the engine roared, bucking the bike onto its rear wheel. Starsky tamed the machine with a deft flick of his hand and ignored the pain searing through his left shoulder. He was free, he was riding one of the best bikes in the world and he was his own man. Could life get any better? Fleetingly he thought of Hutch, but buried the thought immediately. No time for sentimentality. He revved the engine one more time and shot out of the paint shop onto the open road, feeling the wind whistle through his curls as he headed back towards town. By the time he'd pulled up outside the Pits, he was mellow, happy and in more pain than he'd been in since he was in the hospital. Parking the bike up out back, Starsky walked into the bar and ordered a bourbon, sitting in the corner so that he could see who came in and out. Huggy smiled, but carried on with his work. Starsky seemed happy enough and that was how the Bear liked it. He'd heard a rumour already, but decided to save explanations for later.

Back at the Metro, Dobey's phone rang and Minnie's voice informed him that there was a patch through from Sergeant Hutchinson. Dobey took it immediately.

'Well?' Hutch asked.

'It went pretty much as planned. Lots of shouting. He's quit.'

'And?'

'Well they all heard. It'll be round the whole of the City by now.'

Hutch sighed. 'Great. So he's under. What did he think of the idea?'

'To take down Leroy Carson, well known pimp and dealer?' He jumped at the chance, even when I told him he was there to get evidence and observe. No guns, no heroics. Just hard evidence from an ex-cop who's turned to the wild side.

The blond cop at the other end of the phone snickered. 'And they don't come much wilder! Thanks Cap'n. Now back to Vic fuckin' Monty. You got a different job I can do?'

'You wish' Dobey grunted and put down the phone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Hutch sat on the edge of his bed and ran his fingers through his flaxen bangs. It had been tough to convince Dobey to give Starsky a job to do. It had turned out impossible to persuade their Captain to let Hutch take Starsky back up the mountain with him. The blond had pointed out that it was a safe option – that he, Hutch, could look after Starsky and keep him from harm whilst still watching over Vic Monty. As Dobey had pointed out, however, the likelihood was that far from watching Monty's back, Starsky was likely to sink a knife into it. It was out of the question, but both men agreed that to save the brunet from further self harm, Starsky needed to work.

After a quarter of an hour of heavy wrangling, Dobey hit on the answer. Leroy Carson was a thorn in everyone's side. He was a huge black guy, born in Detroit and come south to carve out his own patch. He had his finger in a whole bunch of pies but made most of his money from either dealing in cocaine and other shit or pimping out his stable of girls – all of whom were pretty, vulnerable and barely legal, agewise. Although the Metro had known of Carson for some time, they had no solid evidence. They needed someone on the inside. Someone reliable, who could testify in court, and who better than a great cop gone dirty?

When Dobey had spoken to Starsky that morning it had been the work of a minute to sell the curly haired cop on the job. Dobey had pointed out to his man that there was to be no violence, in fact no guns at all. Starsky was simply to go in there, buy some coke or something stronger if it was available, keep his eye on the girls and get out. A week of observation should do it and it would end in a great arrest and keep Starsky out of mischief. But it was top secret. Hence the bust up in Dobey's office and Starsky storming out, leaving the whole of the rest of the team wondering what the hell was going on and the rest of Bay City's low lives humming with the news that Sergeant Starsky had turned bad.

The blond man smiled to himself. At least Starsky would be happy. As for himself? 24 hours away from Vic Monty was so little time to get over the man. As a rule Hutch had no problem with gays – either men or women. He accepted that they had a different lifestyle and as long as they kept themselves to themselves and caused no trouble, that was fine by him. But Vic Monty was something else. Not only did the guy look creepy, in the best "Addams Family" tradition, his attitude and the way he tried to force himself onto Hutch stunk. On impulse, Hutch got up and made his way into the bathroom. He'd showered the minute he got home, but now, even thinking about Monty made him feel dirty all over again and he turned on the water, dialled up the temperature and stood beneath the hot cascade until his skin was pink and his fingers wrinkled. As he turned the water off and reached for his towel, Hutch heard his telephone ringing in the other room.

Quickly, thinking this could be his partner, he brushed the remaining soap out of his eyes and trotted through to the other room, grabbing the receiver.

'Hey' he said into the mouthpiece.

'Monty's gone.' Roy Gee's voice sounded down the line and for a second Hutch didn't know whether to cheer, or get mad.

'Where? How?'

Gee's voice sounded distant. 'The bastard escaped. We had, shall we say, a heated discussion. He said he was sick of the mountain, he hated the cabin and he needed some entertainment. I told him no way and he went into a sulk and retreated to his bedroom. I went to sit out on the porch. He creeps me out Hutch, he's so….. Anyhow, it was hot an' it was quiet and whether I was dozin' I don't know, but the next thing, there's a noise and when I look, he's only crept past me, taken the keys to my car and he's high-tailin' it out of the drive.'

Hutch sighed deeply. He understood where Gee was coming from – the need to go and be as far away from their charge as was possible, and an upwelling of hate started in his chest as he thought about Monty. And then a thought struck him. Hutch looked at his watch. It was almost nine in the evening.

'If he has your car, with your radio, how're you…you have no radio. Um….'

'I walked off the bloody mountain! Ran, more like. There's a town about five miles down the road, not more than a few houses and a bar, close to the turn off up into the hills. I'm there.'

'You ran? In that heat? Shit Roy, you need a long, cold beer and maybe either a medal or an hour with a shrink. Maybe you should've just fed the bastard to the sharks and left him to his own devices.'

'Believe me, the thought had crossed my mind.'

'Have you any idea where he went?'

'I searched his room before I left. There's one number on a scrap of paper. I rang it when I got here, before I talked to you.'

'And?' Hutch could imagine Gee, tired, hot and thirsty, and as mad as a bear with a sore head in the bar.

'Try Tony's Massage Boutique. 555 2379.'

'Tony as in….'

Gee snickered. 'Well he may well be a tall and leggy blond, but I guess Monty likes different um…..assets.'

Hutch snickered. 'Did you get an address?'

'5010 South Division.'

'Oh yeah, the "better" end of the red light district. I'll send a black and white to get you back up the mountain. In the mean time, let me go and acquaint myself with Tony. Hutch out.'

Starsky sat with his back to the wall, a beer in his hand although he'd hardly taken a sip. The days events played out in his head and for the first time since he'd been shot, he felt alive again. Alive and useful…..and maybe just a little bit nervous, although he couldn't figure out why. He had no gun with him. Maybe that was it. Dobey had promised that this was purely an observation job – watch, make a few deals and get out- but he was a cop and a cop without a gun was ill prepared. He relied heavily on the inanimate hunk of metal and he missed it's solid weight hanging beneath his right arm.

The argument with Dobey had seemed real enough too. Even though it was staged and both he and Dobey knew that, it truly felt as though he had truly severed his ties with the Metro and saying what he did to Dobey had left Starsky with a sour taste in his mouth. For all his gruffness, Starsky liked the big black man and Dobey for sure cared for his men like a proud father.

The brunet took another sip of beer and looked around the darkened bar recalling the discussion he'd had with Huggy Bear. He'd telephoned and told the lanky bar tender he'd be coming in tonight. He'd been gruff, even angry on the phone, although he hated upsetting his friend. He'd also told Huggy that he would be working and that this time, if he looked like he was making a bad decision with his company, the Bear was to butt out and leave him to it. There was little else he could tell him. Huggy would by now have heard that Starsky was out of the force. The Bear had his ear to the ground, but Starsky was undercover and to be effective, the fewer people who knew the truth, the better. All Starsky could do, in fairness to his friend was to tell him that he was ok, that he was feeling fine and that he knew what he was doing. And so Huggy had agreed to abide by the rules, although he still worried about what sort of work Starsky had taken on and whether it was kosher.

Thursday was ladies night and the disco was in full swing. Circles of girls danced around their grouped purses lying on the floor whilst some of the men in the bar looked on, picking and choosing. The booths at the back of the Pits were mostly engaged and in the dim light, with the dry ice sending clouds of mist across the dance floor, everyone seemed to be in the mood for love. The air was heavy with the sounds of the music and the smell of perfume and wine and for a moment Starsky felt absurdly left out without a lady at his side. The brunet sighed and brought himself back to reality. He'd wanted a job and he'd got a job and it was no use trying to play the field. _Mind on the work, Davey boy!_ Starsky berated himself. He took another sip of beer but his eyes skimmed the room and finally fell on his target.

Tammy walked cautiously into the bar, alone and looking very vulnerable despite her makeup and short skirt. Tonight she accompanied the scrap of white material (no more than a frill, really) with a black halter neck top that was split almost to her navel revealing milky cream flesh and the absence of bra. She stood just inside the front door at the opposite side of the bar and looked around, her long dark hair carefully arranged artfully over one shoulder.

Starsky pushed himself up from the wall he'd been leaning against. This was it – show time- and placing the beer down on the bar top, he walked slowly over to the girl through the crowd of dancers. Tammy looked up as she saw him approach and for a moment her heart did a little skip. Was he going to arrest her, or was he going to give her a good time?

Starsky looked down at the tiny woman. 'Hey there.'

Tammy smiled almost shyly. 'Hey yourself.'

'I missed you last night.'

She snickered. 'You bailed on me.'

'I was stoned. I wouldn't have given you a good time if I'd have stayed.'

'I thought it was me who was supposed to give you a good time' Tammy said coyly, her fingers reaching out to run up the deep V of open shirt in front of her. Starsky's hair stood on end at the touch and he felt stirrings further south. He grunted and caught the girls hand.

'I'm not stoned tonight.'

'So you want the real deal? Your friend over there don't seem real pleased to see me.' Tammy flicked her head at the bar, where Huggy was watching the interaction.

Starsky followed her gaze. 'Ignore him. He aint my keeper. We should um…..you wanna go outside?'

'For what? It's $20 for hands only. If you want oral that's another $10.'

The brunet looked suitably upset. 'Even for friends?'

'Are we? Friends?'

Starsky grinned. 'Let's go and find out, shall we?' Gently he ran his finger lightly down the valley between her breasts and down to her flat stomach. He felt like a cradle snatcher but put his feelings of discomfort to one side. She was so not his type, and yet he had always been a sucker for the vulnerable ones. He took Tammy's hand and led her from the bar out to the alley at the back of the Pits. Huggy Bear watched them go, a frown clouding his lugubrious face. Wisely, he said nothing, trusting in Starsky's inherent decency.

Outside, the cool night air wrapped deliciously around the couple and the quiet after the noise of the music in the bar seemed deafening. Tammy looked at the bike parked up by the side of the door with appreciation.

'Yours?' she asked

'Uh huh.'

The girl arranged herself on the saddle of the Harley, sitting astride the machine as she lay back against the handle bars. Her short skirt had ridden up so that Starsky could see that she was ready for action and the view of young girl and the raw sexuality of the bike did strange things to the core of his body. With difficulty, he dragged his mind back to the job in hand.

'Wanna go for a ride?'

A tiny look of fear flashed behind Tammy's eyes. She had been warned by her pimp never to go to a customer's place. In the open she had a measure of safety. If she took them back to her place, Leroy would watch over her. She licked her lips nervously.

'Where to?'

Starsky shook his head. 'You look good enough to eat, right there, but I'm in the mood for more than a hand job in an alley. I need some fuel first and maybe a bed….or a sofa. Hell anywhere inside where we can get value for money. And I need some good shit to make the evening go with a bang.'

Tammy's ears pricked up. 'You got a dealer?'

'Why, do you want some too? I aint payin' for your enjoyment lady.'

She shook her head. 'I was just askin' coz I know a place you can get some hot stuff. Good prices too.'

'And that would be….?'

'It aint far. We could go on the bike and there's a spare room there. Afterwards we could do the business. I might even throw in some extras.'

Starsky took a good look at the girl. In the cold light of the street lamp she looked even younger and should have been at school rather than out on the streets. If she was legal age, then she was barely so. Starsky estimated she was really no more than 16 and he felt dirty for propositioning her. 'Sounds like a deal. Stay where you are and you can direct me.' The brunet flung his leg over the Harley and gunned the engine into life, twisting the throttle a few times for effect so that the engine roared. Behind him Tammy squealed and tightened her grip around his waist. He felt her put her cheek against his back, through his black leather jacket and felt a surge of emotion – uppermost being the need to protect the girl. Stuffing his finer feelings deep down inside, Starsky let out the clutch and zoomed off down the alley in a cloud of smoke.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 - and a bit of a warning for "adult" content.**

Tammy held on tightly to the man in front of her. The vibrations of the engine against her sensitive spots made her squirm with excitement and she leaned her cheek against Starsky's back, breathing in deeply the heady scent of leather and sandalwood soap.

'Not far now' she yelled against the roar of the engine and the wind blowing around the pair of bikers. 'Hang a left here, on for a mile or so and when you see a sign for fresh fish bait, take a right and pull up at the back of the building.'

Starsky nodded his understanding. The night was warm and he had a pretty (if very young) girl holding him tightly around the chest. He could feel the centre of her body pressed tightly against his back and if it had not been for the lancing, jabbing pain and dull ache in his shoulder and left arm, he would have given himself permission to enjoy the experience to the full. Instead Starsky's head was exploding with fire and his body felt heavy and lifeless. He gritted his teeth against the pain. Maybe the Harley had been a bad idea. He couldn't have driven around in the Torino, that car was too easy to recognise, but he could have taken one of Earle's other motors. At least that would have been easier on his injuries.

Eventually the fish bait sign came into view and Starsky obediently took a right turn down the side of a small and down at heel motel proclaiming TV in every room and hot running water twice a day. He drew to a stop.

'Is this it?'

Tammy shimmied off the bike and straightened her skirt. 'It's not much to look at, but this is it, yes. C'm'on. The boss will be waiting.'

Stiffly and with a barely stifled groan, Starsky got off the bike and followed Tammy into the motel, walking through the small, grey reception hall and down a corridor at the back. A door opened onto a set of stairs leading down into the basement and the brunet hesitated. Why did "down" always mean bad things? In horror movies, the baddy or the monster always lurked downstairs, never up in a well lit lounge. "Down" always meant trouble and for a moment Starsky seriously considered rearranging the meeting and going back home for his gun. Tammy looked up at the cop.

'It's ok. The boss uses the rooms in the basement, but it's fine. No-one can see you buying down here.' The girl's innocence, coupled with the short skirt and barely there halter neck top made Starsky's heart skip. She needed saving, if not from Carson, then from herself, and there was no-one else to do it but him. Ignoring the feeling of impending doom, Starsky followed the young girl down the steps and into another world.

The cellar was large, fairly brightly lit and smelled of the familiar sweet aroma of bush. There were a couple of doors off the main room and through the partly open door of one of them, Starsky glimpsed a couple of men in greasy easy chairs surrounded by a cloud of blue, sickly sweet smelling smoke. They were staring into the void, their eyes unfocussed, their faces slack, stoned. The brunet pulled his attention back to the main room.

Tammy had knocked on one of the other doors which now opened and a tall, well built black man peered out. He had a shaved head, a handsome face and white teeth, although when he smiled one of his front teeth was embedded with a red stone which looked suspiciously like a small ruby. He muttered something to Tammy and then slammed the door. The girl looked terrified and glanced back at Starsky.

'Mr Carson says you're a cop and I shouldn't have brought you here.'

'I told you yesterday I was a cop, but I aint no more. I quit.'

'Why?'

'I'll explain to Carson if he wants me to. I aint gonna repeat myself. Tell him he either comes up with some shit for me, or he loses a sale. I can get my stuff elsewhere.'

'I don't um...' Tammy looked distinctly uncomfortable but was saved from further explanation by two doors opening simultaneously. At the front of Starsky, the door opened and Leroy Carson appeared, smiling, whilst behind the brunet another door opened to reveal an equally large black guy toting a small and very deadly looking sub machine gun which he pointed unwaveringly at Starsky. The brunet backed up a couple of steps until he could see both gun and Carson.

'Is this how you treat all your customers?' he asked.

'Only he ones with "pig" written all over 'em' Carson retorted.

'Ex pig. I quit.'

'Yeah, right. And the pope aint Catholic. What do you take me for Detective Starsky?'

Starsky snickered. 'So you know me.'

'I have my ear to the ground.'

'Not close enough otherwise your goons would have told ya that me and the 9th precinct don't exactly see eye to eye no more.'

Carson leaned back against the door, folding his arms casually. 'And why is that?'

'Some crap about a cop can't be a cop and still use horse once in a while.'

'I could see that that may be a little inconvenient.'

'Why? I did some of my best work when I was, shall we say, relaxed.'

'A cop like you don't just give up. Maybe you should just quit whilst you're ahead – or still have a head- and just tell me why you're here.'

Starsky shrugged his shoulders. 'Like I said. I needed some shit and Tammy here said she knew someone who could get me some top quality stuff. Ya know – sumthin that aint cut with rat poison or drain cleaner.'

'Coke?'

'Or stronger. I'm real wound up tonight' Starsky nodded.

Another man appeared at Carson's side and whispered into the dealer's ear. Leroy nodded and looked back over to the brunet. 'Rumour has it you had a bust up with your Captain.'

'Rumour has it right.'

'How do I know this aint some set up?'

Starsky put on his best innocent face. 'You don't. You just have to trust me and the money.'

Carson seemed to come to a decision as he saw the wad of bills Starsky brought out from his back pocket. From his own pocket he brought out a small vial containing some brown powder, a tiny dropper bottle and a spoon. Leroy snapped his fingers and one of his men brought a candle, syringe and needle still in its wrapper.

'$50 buys you one hit of the finest horse this side of the pacific.'

Starsky started to peel off the notes from his wad. He wanted this over with. Leroy Carson was one of those men who was genuinely bad. He had a dangerous air about him and the guys he surrounded himself with were all professionals. There had been no shouting, or wise cracks, just calm, well rehearsed moves which left Starsky surrounded. The brunet was tense and the pain in his shoulder had reached intolerable levels so that all he wanted to do was go home, take three of his strongest pain meds and wash them down with a pint of tequila.

'Fine. Fifty it is' he brunet grunted.

Carson watched in amusement. 'Do you think I'm stupid?'

Starsky glanced up. 'Huh?'

'Don't you think it would be too easy to pay for a score, go back to your Captain and tell him you've got the low down on Leroy Carson? I didn't fall off the last banana boat Starsky.'

The brunet sighed. 'So what? Are you sellin' or do I go elsewhere. I'm tired and I need a hit. Don't mess with me.'

Carson smiled. 'I have no intension of depriving you of your hit. I just wanted to offer you somewhere comfortable to take it.'

Starsky's heart rate rose another few beats. 'I can find my own place to score. My flat is just fine.'

'Uh huh. And also just a little too private. Like I said, I didn't get to be where I am today without being, shall we say, cautious. If you want the shit, you take it here and avail yourself of my hospitality. The girl is thrown in free of charge.' Tammy looked from Carson to Starsky and as her gaze fell on the brunet, Starsky detected a look of both longing and a small amount of fear. His heart was in his throat as he nodded his assent. Visions from the past suddenly floated before his eyes.

'_I got ya, ya big lug. I got ya.'_

'_...You say you're my friend, then act like one...'_

'_I just need a drink...'_

'_Have a candy bar.'_

'_They wanted Jinny..and I think I told 'em...'_

Starsky pushed the memories down deep. They were too raw and too fresh for him to think about them now. Hutch still had problems coming to terms with his forced addiction. Maybe this would be different. What harm could one shot do? Starsky eyed the needle and flame as though it were a snake about to strike. What would it feel like? He'd done ganja whilst he was in 'Nam. Hadn't everyone who wanted to escape the horrors for a while. But this was different. This was hard core.

But it would be only one shot. One syringe full and then he was free to buy the stuff and get out. Should he get out? Should he take the sensible option and make some pathetic excuse? When had he ever been sensible? He'd never failed an undercover job yet and with his livelihood at stake, he wasn't about to lose it now. Too much to lose. Too much time without Hutch watching his back. Too much pain to make thinking easy. Pulse racing, Starsky nodded.

'Fine. And the girl too. For the night.' If he couldn't save himself, he could at least save Tammy.

Leroy Carson smiled and showed the brunet and Tammy through into a small room at the back of the building. It had a queen sized bed, a chair, a small wash basin and no window. It also had a small wooden table on which one of the other men arranged the candle, syringe, needle, bottle and vial of powder.

Carson pointed to the paraphernalia. 'Be my guest.'

Starsky's heart beat faster than ever. The pain in his shoulder seemed somehow diminished as he stared into the amber light of the candle flame. Slowly, he handed over the $50 and rolled up the sleeve of his right arm. He placed the ugly brown powder onto the spoon provided, fixed the needle to the syringe and then heated the powder over the flame until it liquefied. He added a few drops of citric acid. With his heart now in his mouth, Starsky tied the tourniquet around his right bicep and pulled tight. The marks of the drip needles from his stay in hospital stood out clearly in the dim light and could easily have been mistaken for other evidence of self abuse.

The vein in his arm stood out proud and blue and with a slightly shaky hand Starsky drew up the liquid into the syringe, flicked out the air and without allowing himself a second thought, plunged the needle into his vein. He depressed the plunger and felt the heat from the liquid enter his body like venom. The effect was almost instantaneous and a huge rush of warmth flooded Starsky's body as his muscles relaxed and magically the pain he had endured for the past three weeks melted away.

So this was the rush that everyone spoke about. Not too bad, Starsky found himself thinking. Not too bad at all. The brunet felt warm, relaxed. He loved everyone, including Leroy Carson who was standing in front of him watching intently. What could possibly be wrong in this?

'Better?' Carson asked.

The horse was already coursing around Starsky's body. Most people started out on heroin by smoking or sniffing, not the direct route like this. Unused to the drug, he felt his arms and legs grow heavier. Even his eyelids were so heavy that keeping them open was an effort he didn't want to make.

'Sure' Starsky slurred. 'Great.'

Carson nodded. 'Enjoy yourself. The girl is yours for the night. I'll leave the two of you alone to get better acquainted.'

The dealer closed the door and Starsky staggered to the bed and sat down heavily. His whole body felt warm and relaxed; heavy in the sort of bed-warm way you get on a lazy Sunday morning when the whole of the day is yours to do with as you please. He blinked owlishly around him and wondered what all the fuss had been about. Horse wasn't so bad, in fact, the way he felt right now, he wanted to proclaim to the world that it should be legalised and given to everyone as a matter of course. Surely there would be no wars if everyone scored once in a while.

And then there was the insistent feeling in the centre of his body. Starsky had never felt his cock grow so large and demanding so quickly without some sort of outside assistance. He felt as though he was living his life through Little Davey and his eyes wandered automatically to Tammy who was standing in the corner, watching.

God, she looked good enough to eat! Slowly, the girl walked towards Starsky, never taking her eyes off the cop with his pin-point pupils and stunning indigo eyes. Almost casually she dropped to her knees between his legs and looked up at him.

'Do you feel it?' she asked

'Oh yeah.'

'Do you want to feel even better?'

'Uh huh. C'm'ere' Starsky mumbled and reached for her almost roughly, his hands entwined in her hair as he pulled her towards him and kissed her hard on the lips. She drew away, breathless.

'Let me help' she said quietly and pushed Starsky back until the upper half of his body fell supine on the bed, his legs still outstretched and his feet on the floor. Deftly, she worked at the belt buckle of his jeans and tore the white shirt upwards, revealing the flat, olive toned plane of muscled stomach. The brunet felt her hands working on the centre of his body and a part of him knew it was wrong and yet he continued to stare upwards at the grimy ceiling as he felt his cock released from it's prison and spring upwards.

The curly haired man shivered and a groan escaped him as he felt soft hands encircle him and caress the satin soft flesh gently. He pushed himself upwards, urging Tammy to take control and the girl responded, bowing her head to take that first delicious taste of the overheated skin.

Starsky shuddered, his body already in ecstasy as Tammy's tongue licked delicately up his length and then her lips circled his tip. His hands clawed at the sheets as her mouth and tongue worked their magic on him and still, the tiny voice in his head told him that this was wrong whilst his body urged him not to listen. The brunet was lost in his drug induced euphoria. How could his be wrong? He wasn't hurting the girl; he wasn't forcing her to do anything she didn't want to do. And yet she was so young; so vulnerable; so...jail bait.

As Tammy got to her feet and scrambled onto the bed, straddling Starsky's body so that she could position herself for the final act, Starsky's mind finally took control of his raw emotions. With difficulty, he lifted his leaden, heavy hands and took a hold of Tammy around the waste.

'No...can't' he breathed with difficulty.

'But you're so ready' Tammy pleaded.

'I know hon...but...we shouldn't.'

'Mr Carson will be angry.'

Starsky rolled onto his side, his body answering his commands sullenly and slowly. He felt as though he was swimming through molasses and his cock still stood up proud and indignant between them.

'Fuck Carson.'

Tammy smiled. 'I'd rather fuck you.' On impulse, she took a hold of Little Davey again and pulsed her hand a couple of times, squeezing gently. The pressure was nothing, the touch almost feather light and yet it was too much for Starsky's over worked nerves to deal with and he felt his body turn to hot, red marble beneath the girl's touch. He had just enough time to feel the sensation of letting go before his body spasmed and jerked and he felt the familiar hot rush through his loins. He closed his eyes as Tammy continued to stroke him, knowing this was so wrong and yet it felt so right.

With those thoughts running through his head, Starsky drifted off into a deep, dark and pain free sleep feeling as though everything was going to be ok and he was still the man he used to be.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The room was dimly lit, the single candle almost burned away to nothing. The place was quiet as the grave and had that tired air of a building that comes alive at night but needs to rest during the day. The air smelled stale, the sheets below Starsky's body grey and smelling of someone else's sweat.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The brunet's mind was a pleasant blank. He could not, or would not think of anything other than how tired he felt and how he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his own bed and go back to sleep.

Then the memory hit. The memory of an impossibly young girl, her eyes not yet out of their innocence, looking up at him lovingly as her lips and tongue worked at the centre of his body.

Was it a dream? It was a fantasy most men had, if they allowed themselves to be honest. What red blooded male wouldn't want to be the first to take a young virgin and show her what she should be used for? But it was a dream, right?

On impulse, Starsky looked around him, his head rolling against the dirty mattress. Beside him, Tammy slept, her long auburn hair tousled and falling across her pretty face.

That pretty, very young face.

Very young.

Suddenly the memories came flooding back - the needle, the rush, the big black dealer standing watching as Starsky succumbed to the heroin flooding his senses; the look on Tammy's face as she saw the lust in Starsky's eyes; the feeling of utter contentment as his body responded to the drug and the girls caresses.

Suddenly Starsky wanted to throw up. He was a cop for God's sake. He was supposed to be here to save the child prostitutes, not avail himself of their services! Ok, so Tammy was legal age - he'd checked that out before taking the job, but she was barely legal and it could so easily have been someone younger. Without the drug in his system, Starsky felt like shit. After the nod come the feelings of recrimination and he was experiencing those big time. Suddenly the idea of being in the same room, or even in the same building as Tammy seemed so very wrong and carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping girl, Starsky got himself off the bed and stood shakily, getting back his balance.

Gone was the euphoria of the night before. Gone too was the pain free existence of a few hours ago. He'd used his left arm more in 24 hours than he had done in three weeks, and now his muscles, bones and sinews were telling him he'd overdone it. He felt sick, with the pain and the knowledge of what he'd almost done. Gathering his jacket quickly and with a shuddering glance at the candle and empty syringe, Starsky opened the door to the room, let himself out quietly and virtually ran up the steps and out into the cold, foggy LA dawn.

Riding the Harley back to his house was purgatory. Every bump in the road, every small crease over which the bike bounced reverberated up Starsky's arm and ricocheted around his body like fire. Twice he had to stop the bike and throw up in the gutter, mostly from pain, but also from the memory that he'd done the unthinkable and taken heroin, the most addictive substance in the world. By the time he reached the safety of Ridgeway, Starsky had convinced himself he was evil incarnate. The heroin had left him depressed, tired and in pain. The absence of sensation in his shoulder earlier seemed to magnify the pains now shooting through the left hand side of his body and as soon as the brunet had the door to his apartment open, he staggered through to the kitchen, took two of the Tramadol from the bottle and washed them down with a shot of bourbon.

Should he phone Dobey now, confess and tell him he couldn't do the job? Should he hand back his shield and gun and quit for real? Or should he hand himself in to the nearest flatfoot and come clean about his activities of the night before? The feelings of wrong doing were magnified by the down after the drug. Starsky recognised this on a subconscious level, but the feelings of depression and self loathing were so real...so "now" that he could hardly think rationally any more.

With a growl of anguish, Starsky took himself off to his bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed. He ran his fingers through his curls, grabbing a handful of his own hair in each hand and pulling, angrily. What the fuck was he doing? Why in hells name had he allowed things to get so out of hand? The sensible option would have been to make an excuse and leave Carson, or to insist he scored and then took the drug away. But no. Starsky being Starsky, he had to be full on and that meant proving himself.

He berated himself. _Way to go dickhead_.

Glancing up, he saw the light flashing on his phone, indicating he had a message on his pager. Despite himself, Starsky fished through his drawer and brought out the small black device, pushing the button.

Two messages.

He pressed the first and felt an absurdly strong surge of emotion as his partner's voice sounded over the pager's speaker. 'Hey, Starsk. The hearing is set for Wednesday. That's only 6 days. Dobey should have told you about the job by now. Enjoy...and don't do anything I wouldn't do. See ya.'

Starsky snickered. 'I did just what you did partner. Or what you were forced to do.'

The second message flashed up. From Leroy Carson. 'Hope you're feeling good. You left some behind. Tammy is enjoying it right now. You can take your payment in full tonight.'

With a hiss Starsky threw the pager across the room. He wanted to blot out the world. He wanted to blot out the memory of Carson, the motel, the girl and most of all, the feeling of that cold, silvery needle slicing into his vein and leading him down the deep dark hole into euphoria.

Because if he had the courage to admit it to himself, Starsky had, for those few brief hours, never felt so good, or so pain free.

Ken Hutchinson sank back onto the chair on the veranda outside the cabin. Since bringing Monty back to the safe house, the dealer had been under almost house arrest. Hutch's day off had been cut short and it seemed pointless to go back to town for only a few more hours, especially as Roy Gee had gone straight home from the bar he'd found.

Hutch cursed. He had looked forwards to maybe seeing something of his partner before he returned to the mountain and his guard duty. He missed Starsky, even if the brunet could be infuriating at times. He missed him like he missed a comfortable shirt, or a well thumbed book. Starsky gave Hutch a feeling of comfort and (if he was honest) a sense of belonging. He was Hutch's shadow on occasions; his confident, his best friend, his shoulder to cry on (figuratively) and the brother he never had, all rolled into one curly headed bundle of a man. Life without Starsky was downright boring and was made all the worse by Vic Monty's sleazy pastimes. Hutch was always one to reserve judgement on a guy, but to have Monty come onto him was too much and he wanted to distance himself as much as possible from the greasy haired dealer. For a while, the blond simply looked out at the green wooded area around the clearing, and the sun sparkling off the water from the lake through the trees. Why wasn't life simple?

The quiet of the mountain in the early evening was once more punctured by Monty's voice.

'Dinner is served.'

Hutch tried to ignore the voice but Monty was nothing if not persistent. He came to the door of the cabin.

'Dinner. It's on the table.'

Hutch turned slowly. 'Then go eat it.'

'Don't you want any? It's pot roast.'

'Nope.'

'Aww, c'm'on Hutch. Can't we let bygones be bygones?'

Hutch got stiffly to his feet, his temper swelling. 'I have spent only one day at home in the past week. For the rest of the time I've tried to keep your sorry ass out of trouble when all you wanted was to have some pretty boy manhandle it. I am supposed to risk my life to keep you alive Monty. I am supposed to guard you so that you can give evidence to clear up Bay City and all you seem interested in is fuckin' pot roast.'

Monty blinked. 'Do I detect a hint of jealousy Detective?' he asked coyly.

Hutch slammed his fist into the side of the cabin in anger. 'You are unbelievable! No, I am not jealous. No I am not hungry and if I never saw you again it would be too soon. Get back in that cabin, eat your meal and keep out of my sight or I may just feed your ass to the nearest sniper who happens to want the price that's on your head.' With that, the blond cop turned his back, walked down the steps and got into his car. It was hot and stuffy, but it was his own space and stupidly, for a while, Hutch felt peaceful...and safe.

Starsky too was sitting alone, contemplating his fate. The day had been spent catching up on his sleep and filling in the boredom with anything he could think of. He'd tidied his small apartment, washed, dried and stacked the dishes, tried to read a magazine and had finally thrown down the remote from the TV in disgust. Nothing interested him – or rather nothing could take his mind off of the nagging pains in his shoulder. They set his teeth on edge and his nerves jangling, but what was more disturbing was the memories of what he'd done the previous night.

For a few blissful hours Starsky had been totally pain free. For a couple of hours he had been free to actually enjoy himself, even if those few hours were drug induced. The fact that he'd also managed to stop himself from the final act with Tammy also made him feel marginally better. It was bad enough that he'd allowed the young girl to make love to him like that, but at least he hadn't allowed himself to have full blown sex. Had that occurred, he'd have marched straight back to Dobey and confessed. As it was, Starsky found himself wondering. What would happen when he went back to Carson's tonight? He needed to score again – for the record, obviously. But at the back of the brunet's mind was the thought that maybe, once he'd got the stuff, he could come back to his place and...

Angrily Starsky scrubbed his fingers through his hair. _Stop that. You've spent your life hunting down these flakes to stop the spread of the drug trade. What're you doin' Davey boy? What the fuck are you thinkin' of?'_

Stiffly Starsky got to his feet. The fingers of the clock had crawled around to 9.00pm and it was once more show time. The brunet flexed his injured arm, trying to get some movement back into it. It was stiff and sore and ached like the devil. He tried to ignore it and went into the bathroom to get himself ready for the evening.

After his shower, Starsky dressed in his black jeans, a black tee shirt and boots, eschewing his favourite trainers – they didn't go with the outfit. He added a leather thong with a blue painted Indian bead that one of his girlfriends had given him as a present. She had told him it was the same blue as his eyes and he'd smiled and placed the necklace in a drawer. Now he took it out and fastened it around his neck. The blue bead was distinctive and did seem to reflect in his eyes, but those eyes stared back at him accusingly. They seemed to be telling him to mind himself, to be careful, to be sensible. He snickered at his reflection, finger combed his hair into some semblance of order, checked himself one more time and headed for the door. On the way, he picked up the wad of bills that the Metro had given him as funds for the operation and stuffed them into his back pocket. He picked up the keys to the Harley and without a backwards glance, headed down the steps and out to the bike. Tonight he was a rogue cop. Tonight he was Dave Starsky, ex cop and danger merchant. Tonight, he needed Hutch's calming presence more than he'd ever done before.

The bike pulled to a stop outside the motel and Starsky looked up at the untidy stone edifice. The place looked sad, dilapidated and tired and seemed to reflect on the exterior what Starsky felt inside. Dismounting the bike, the curly haired man took a moment to gather himself before walking confidently into the motel, and slamming his hand down on the greasy reception counter. The girl behind the bar looked up and her hungry eyes lit up. It wasn't often that she got a customer with the smouldering dark looks of this one. She spat out her gum and stuck it underneath the countertop.

'Hey.'

'Where's Carson. I have an...um...appointment.'

The girl gave Starsky the once over and remembered him from the previous night. 'Does the boss know?'

'He knows there's money waitin'.'

'I'll tell him you're here. Mr...'

'Starsky.'

The girl picked up the phone and turned her back on Starsky as she muttered into the receiver. She nodded, put the phone down and turned her attention back to the man in black. 'Down the hall, down the steps. You know the way.'

Starsky nodded, repaid the girl with a smile that melted her and walked away. She watched his slim hips strut down the hallway and sighed before scraping her gum from its hiding place and resuming chewing.

The curly haired cop pushed open the door to the basement and went down. Below the hallway was well enough lit and at the end was the customary goon with the sub machine gun. Starsky tried to ignore it and stood in the centre of the room, waiting. A moment later, Carson appeared, all smiles and handshakes.

'Well if it isn't ex-detective Starsky. You back for more Bro?'

'Uh huh.'

'Wasn't that just the smoothest ride? Good shit huh?'

Starsky put on his best bored face. 'I didn't know you wanted a critique.'

Carson threw his hands up and snorted. 'I just like people to appreciate my goods.'

'It was ok. I've had better.'

The dealer turned serious. 'Then why are you back? If it aint the best, then why come back here?'

Starsky shrugged. 'Convenience. You got more. Or do I go elsewhere?'

'How much d'ya want?'

The cop pulled out his wad of bills and peeled off $100. 'What'll that get me?'

Carson eyed the money, counted it and grinned. 'That my friend, will get you a real good night. Pick of the girls, maybe some nice smooth tequila and a better room.'

'Uh uh. I've played your games. Just the horse. After that, what I do and where I do it is up to me.'

'You don't like my hospitality? I'm wounded.'

'You can drop dead in your boots for all I care. D'ya want to deal or no?' From the corner of his eye. Starsky saw Tammy stagger out of one of the bedrooms, her eyes glazed and her hair mussed. Without thinking too much more about it, he peeled off another $50. 'Throw in the girl and no questions asked.'

Carson nodded. 'Fine. Red?' The man with the sub machine gun disappeared and a moment late came back with a small package wrapped in brown paper. He handed it to Starsky, who took it and peeled back one corner of the parcel. He saw the wrap, the syringe and needle and nodded. Carson waved Tammy over and pushed her towards Starsky. 'Have fun, but bring her back in the morning. I like to look after my girls.'

Starsky snickered. 'Sure you do.' He turned on his heel and Tammy obediently followed as he made his way back upstairs and out into the cool night air. Starsky resisted the urge to find the nearest place and shower. He felt dirty through just being with Carson, but another deal should be enough to get the job done and put Carson away for a long time. In the mean time, Tammy was looking expectantly at him.

Great. What was he supposed to do with her now? Starsky had no intention of leaving her with Carson and yet equally he wasn't going to take her back to his place like another commodity. On impulse he gave the girl $100. She stared at him.

'What's this for. You already paid the boss.'

'Go have a good time.'

'I thought that's what we were supposed to do.'

Starsky shook his head. 'You looked like you needed a break. Go...knock yourself out...,whatever. Just ...I dunno. Don't do nuthin stupid huh?' Without a backwards look, Starsky swung his leg over the bike, revved the engine and dove away in a screech of tires, leaving Tammy looking stunned and a little upset.

The brunet drove back to his apartment tiredly. He hurt and it seemed the more he did, the more he hurt. Each bump in the road reverberated up through the handlebars and translated as pains in his shoulder and chest and by the time Starsky pulled up outside Ridgeway, he was bathed in sweat and had his teeth gritted against the pain.

Inside the cool of his apartment, Starsky threw the keys down on the table, stowed the package he'd bought in the cupboard behind the door and headed for the kitchen. He took out three Tramadol and his bottle of bourbon, swilling down the capsules with a mouthful of the spirit. He poured a half a tumblerful of the brown liquid and sat down on his easy chair to listen to Mozart on his record player. The music usually soothed him and God knows he needed soothing tonight. His nerves were on edge and his shoulder throbbed with such force that he felt the pains in his back and stomach. The bourbon was doing nothing to take the edge off it.

Starsky tried to relax. He wiggled his fingers, rotated his shoulder all to no avail. An hour later the pain was still as bad, the bourbon bottle was empty and the Tramadol had had no effect.

Starsky paced his living room in desperation. A part of him suggested phoning the hospital. Surely his shoulder should be feeling better by now, and yet the thoughts of more doctors and more surgeries was too much. He needed relief and he needed it now.

By two in the morning, Starsky's defences were at their lowest. He had tried to sleep but the nagging pains refused to let him relax. He'd tried to exercise, but that made things worse and he had no booze left to drink. The pain meds made him feel sick to his stomach and seemed to have little effect, but he needed release, somehow.

And then the idea took him. The heroin in the cupboard seemed to draw him like a moth to a flame and Starsky found himself opening the cupboard door and staring at the brown paper package.

_No, its wrong._

_But it makes you feel better. You need sleep_

_I can deal with this._

_Not on your own, you can't. It's just one more shot. After that, you don't need to take any more._

_But that's one shot too many._

_What harm can one more shot do? It's not like you're an addict._

The arguments went round and round in the brunet's head. He was hot. He hurt like hell and without even thinking about it, he'd reached out and grasped the package.

_Too late, you've made your decision Davey boy._

Without thinking any more; without any further recriminations, Starsky unpacked the package, tied the tourniquet around his arm and sunk the needle into his vein. The drug flowed once more into his body and with it came an almost overwhelming feeling of warmth and well being. There was nothing wrong with heroin. It made him feel better and it made the pain go away. He didn't need to take any more after this. It was purely medicinal, right?

With that comforting thought running through his head, Starsky slumped dazedly onto his chair and allowed the drug to wash over him. The world was ok. Dave Starsky was ok and the heroin? That was so much more than ok that Starsky wished he could marry it.

_My dear readers, I feel that at this juncture I need to put pen to paper (so to speak). Over the past four years of writing for S&H on FFN I have had several discussions with another, well respected, author from the fandom. We had heated discussions about reviews and how they affected a writer and for the most part, I upheld the view that a writer writes for themselves and if anyone else wishes to read and comment on a story, then that's a bonus. Their view was very different and I can see their point._

_As a writer I spend a great deal of time in making the story the best I possibly can. A chapter can take 2 hours to write or sometimes 2 days, depending on whether the creative juices are flowing. Sometimes a story takes over the writer's life, sometimes they get half way through and hate it. Whatever happens, for most writers, their story is very important to them and a lot of time and energy is invested in it. Which brings me full circle to the initial argument._

_Over the years I've written on his site I've watched writers come and go and wondered why. I have come to one conclusion. When I started on the site, I would be overwhelmed by the number of comments on a chapter. My colleague compared S&H to other sites where a writer averaged 15 or 20 reviews for each chapter. Over the years, the number of comments has dropped dramatically in this fandom and I have come to the painful conclusion that readers no longer want his kind of story. To that end I think that once I have completed publishing this one, I will call it a day._

_Reviews are not everything, but feedback is good for the soul and to put so much into a story, to publish it and then to sit back and wonder – do people like it? Are they reading it? It has become soul destroying._

_I love they guys, I love their bond of friendship, but I feel the time may be right to bow out and leave them to a well earned retirement._

_Best wishes to all. KW_


	17. Chapter 17

My dear readers. Thank you so much for your words of support. No, you aren't selfish, and no, you aren't lazy! You all have lives to lead and I should remember that *hanging head*. As an apology for my outburst I present the next chapter in the curly one's downfall. Enjoy...and once again, thank you.

**Chapter 17 – 4 days later.**

The telephone rang for the sixth time, and this time the noise penetrated the sleepy, comfortable fog that clouded Starsky's mind. Blinking stupidly in the dim light of his close curtained apartment, the brunet roused himself from his stupor. How long was it since his fix? How long had he been out of it? Shit, only two hours? The nod was lasting less and less time and with it, the pain killing effects of the drug.

With a conscious effort, Starsky hauled himself off the bed and made an unco-ordinated grab for the telephone. He missed, refocused and tried again, catching the receiver by the cord. With the ear piece jammed to his ear, Starsky breathed into the mouthpiece.

'Starsky.'

'Dave? Davey, are you alright?'

The female voice shook the brunet. It sounded familiar but for a moment his drug addled brain refused to connect face to sound. He was on the verge of asking who it was when the voice spoke again.

'Davey, did I wake you? Are you alright son?'

Mom! It was Rachel Starsky on the phone! Some semblance of clarity filled Starsky's head. Shit, it must be Thursday and for the first time in many years, he hadn't phoned her.

'Hey Mom' Starsky managed to string the two words together and felt absurdly proud of himself. His body was leaden, his mind barely functioning. Starsky was still in the grip of the last of five shots of heroin in as many days and it was taking over his body.

'I thought maybe you were out, or working. Are you alright son? You seem so tired. Is it the shoulder still?'

_Shoulder. What shoulder? Ohh, THAT shoulder. She knows about it? Course she knows about it, she phoned the hospital twice a day. Talk to her dammit!_

'No, noshouldersfineMom.' The words tumbled from his mouth and it took his mind a moment to process what he'd just said. Shit, talking was tough.

'You haven't gone back to work have you?'

'Uh huh. Justalittlejob.'

'Aww son. It's too soon. You're just like your father. He would never rest either. Just don't do too much huh?'

Starsky forced his drooping eyes back open. What had she just said? Something about an arrest?

'Who?'

Rachel's voice sounded suspicious. 'Who what? Davey are you sure you're alright? Are you in pain? You sound so tired.'

With a huge effort, Starsky got his act together and took a deep breath. 'I'm fine Mom, don't worry. I went back to work early and it makes me...makes me tired. Just tired.'

'But you're ok?' the woman persisted.

'Sure am' Starsky muttered. 'How's Aunt Rosey?'

As Rachel started to tell Starsky the latest saga of Aunt Rosey's dodgy hip Starsky lay back on the bed and caught sight of the needle from the corner of his eye. Thank god no-one had invented a phone that could see as well as send voices. The sight of the needle made his heart lurch in his chest.

Five scores in five days. The first dose had been almost forced and Starsky had intended it to be his first and also his last experience of heroin. But the pain killing qualities of the drug, coupled with the fantastic feeling of wellbeing whilst he was on the nod were so good and went such a long way to helping him over the pains in his shoulder that the second dose had been almost an easy decision.

After that, it was, as they say, all downhill. Leroy Carson had proved a good supplier and his stuff was top quality. Three more scores and $700 of the city's funds later, Starsky could at least escape the pain and sleep for a few hours before the vicious ache started all over again and he was left to battle his body and also his growing addiction. On one level, Starsky realised he needed help. On the other side of the coin, why help when he could get the horse whenever he wanted and to hell with doctors.

As Starsky lay back on the pillow, trying hard to listen to his Mom's voice down the line telling him now about his cousin Tony in Vermont, the phone slipped from his ear and he allowed himself to slide back down into his dark, comfortable and pain free world.

At the other end of the line, Rachel suddenly realised that her son had not interjected, or commented for almost 15 minutes, not even when she broke the news that Nicky had been arrested again and she had stood the $1000 bail to get him out and away from police custody.

'Davey?'

Rachel received no answer.

'David Michael Starsky are you listening to me?' His full Sunday name usually got a rise from her son, but this time there was nothing. 'Oy ve! Wait till I get a hold of your Captain. The chutzpah of the man! Wait till I speak to him!' Rachel put the telephone down and resolved to phone Captain Dobey first thing in the morning. In the mean time, Starsky, her number one son, slumbered on, unaware that more trouble was just around the corner.

Dobey answered his own phone on the second ring. It had been a good morning so far. Knight and Bailey had just finished the report on the "Fox Scandal" they had been investigating successfully for the past three months and he'd had the pleasure of reporting to both the Mayor and the IA that his department had had yet another success. Edith's plate full of freshly made waffles and maple syrup still filled his belly comfortably and he was on his fifth cup of coffee. What could go wrong on a day like this?

'Dobey.'

'Captain Dobey, this is Rachel Starsky.'

Dobey's day just looked a whole lot bleaker. 'Mornin'. What can I do for you?'

'Get my son some help instead of forcing him back to work so early. He's exhausted and I think he needs help.'

Despite his liking for Rachel, Dobey did not like to be told what to do with his own men. 'Now just a minute there. No-one did any forcing. Going back to work was Starsky's choice, not mine.' Why did he suddenly feel so defensive, like he was a naughty schoolboy brought before the principal?

'You're supposed to be in charge of that department. You're the one that calls the shots. You had every right to refuse my son another job until he was healed fully.'

There was no real answer to that. With any ordinary cop, Dobey would have refused to allow them to come back so quickly. There again, no ordinary cop would have been hammering on his door pleading to come back to work. "Ordinary" and "Starsky" were not two words you usually found in the same sentence.

'I...He needed to work.' God the words sounded so dumb. 'I'll check up on him this morning.' Dobey said sheepishly.

Rachel's voice softened. 'I'm sorry Captain. I shouldn't be telling you how to run your squad, but I'm a long way away and David is...well, you know him. Sometimes he needs a firm hand.'

'Ya think?' Dobey snickered. 'Leave it with me Rachel. I'll phone and see what's goin' on.'

The black man put down the phone. He could hardly be angry at Mrs Starsky. The fact was that he liked the woman and had a lot of respect for a cop's widow who brought up two hellion sons on her own. And he had kinda thrown Starsky in at the deep end. He was so used to both Starsky and his partner being self reliant. They worked better without too much interference from him and he'd learned over the years that they would get the results he needed without him having to be constantly on their backs. Dobey berated himself for forgetting that Starsky was almost fresh out of the hospital and was working solo. Of course the guy needed support, but Starsky would be too proud to ask for it. Dobey picked up the phone again and asked Minnie Caplan to patch him through to Starsky's number.

Back at Ridgeway, the telephone rang and this time Starsky answered it on the third ring, expecting his Mom to be checking up on him again. He was surprised to hear his Captain's voice sounding down the line.

'How's it going?' the big black man asked without any preliminaries.

Starsky fought the dizziness and the faint feeling of nausea. 'Fine. Good' he lied. He felt like crap both from the constant pain and from the come down from his latest fix.

'You got the low down on Carson? We can go in any time you feel you got enough evidence.'

Evidence. Oh. My. God. Evidence. How the hell could Starsky show five empty syringes and a burned down candle – the only "evidence" he had for spending the city's $700 of tax payers money. Carried away by the euphoria of the drug, how could he have forgotten that titbit? That somewhere down the line, after a week of undercover work during which he was to buy the drug from Carson, the DA was going to want the evidence – the drugs for the court case.

Fuck!

Ok, calm Davey boy. Keep calm...and lie like hell.

'I um... I haven't scored yet. Carson's tight, almost too tight. He still suspects I'm a cop. I'm takin' it slow but tonight I'm supposed to hit the big time. He has some shit for me so I should have sumthin by the morning.'

Dobey heard the tension in his man's voice and felt bad that he'd allowed Starsky back to work so quickly. 'Fine. Don't do too much. You sound tired. Any time you want out I can get one of the others to take over.'

_What? And learn I've been shooting up the DA's evidence? Uh uh._ 'No! No, it's cool. Shoulder's still givin' me grief but I'm better workin'. I um...I gotta go Cap'n.'

'You be careful huh? Good work Starsky.'

The phone went dead leaving those last three words echoing around the quiet room. Good work Starsky. The implicit trust Dobey had for the brunet cut him to the core. The more he thought about it, the more Starsky felt so bad he wanted to crawl away to a quiet corner and shrivel up. How could he? How could he have gotten himself into such a state? How could he feel so bad? God what he wouldn't give for another few hours of escape.

Starsky found himself gazing longingly at the empty syringe on his bedside table. His hand reached out, shaking uncontrollably towards the needle and in that one crystalline clear moment Starsky knew he needed help. He was a junkie. He was one of the sad flakes on the street looking anywhere for their next fix. He was so far down the road to perdition he could almost smell the fires of hell in the distance and for one low moment, he wanted to run towards them and roast alive on the red hot coals of his conscience.

What had he done? What had he become? He was no better than his brother Nicky. He had spent so long being the "good son", the great cop, the supportive partner, the medal winning detective. And now? His career thrown away on the back of the ugly brown liquid in the syringe.

With a yell, Starsky took the small glass tube and hurled it across the room.

He needed help and he needed it now. But where from? Hutch? No, he was gone. This was Hutch's fault. He'd left Starsky when Starsky needed him most. Some friend huh?

_You say you're my friend? Well act like one.'_ The blond's tortured voice echoed through his head as a vision of Hutch, bedraggled, round shouldered and defeated floated through Starsky's head. Hutch had been here, although his was a forced addiction. This wasn't Hutch's fault, it was purely Starsky's own fault. He was weak. Weak and stupid and in so much shit that if he ever got out from the grip of the IA he would never be a cop again.

$700 of someone else's money. $700. A fortune. Starsky had barely $30 to last him to next pay day and no savings. Should he sell the Torino? That'd pay back the money and still have some left for...

The longing for the next shot hit Starsky full on and was so powerful that it dropped the brunet to his knees. Slowly, he lowered his head until his forehead was resting on the ground. Eyes closed, David Starsky did something he hadn't done since he was 5. He wept, not for anyone else. Not because he hurt. He wept because he could see no way out and the unaccustomed feeling of failure cut him to the core.

The ride over to Carson's on the Harley was purgatory and Starsky vowed that he would ditch the beautiful bike when he got back and either get back his beloved Torino, or get another set of wheels that did not involve placing all his weight on his injured arm.

This was it. He'd taken the final $25 of public money and he was going to score. Then he was going to put the drug in safe keeping and present it to Dobey tomorrow, maybe embellishing the explanation with something about being mugged for the other shit he'd bought. It was the only thing he could think of and thinking was becoming increasingly difficult as the draw for the next shot started to pull at him.

Twisting the throttle savagely, the brunet flew through the almost empty streets of the boon docks. With the wind in his hair and the exhilaration of the speed for a few seconds Starsky seemed to leave behind his cravings and just enjoy the power of the bike. This was how life should be – out on the open road with the power of the engine between his legs, not cowering in some darkened room wasting his life away in a dream state that lasted less and less time. Logically his mind told him that the drug was bad. In reality, his hands were shaking, he was sweating, cold and clammy and his muscles hurt from the constant spasms.

The curly haired wreck of a cop pulled to a halt outside Leroy Carson's motel, got off the bike and went inside. The girl on the reception desk nodded at him as he walked through to the stairs at the back and down into the underworld, quite literally. As he walked into the subterranean hallway, one of Carson's goons headed him off.

'Well if it aint the dirty cop. Come for another score? You really like this shit.'

Starsky ignored the comment. 'Where's Carson?'

'The boss sent me to ask what ya want, so I'm askin'.'

Starsky sighed. 'I talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey.'

'Huh?'

The brunet decided that insults wouldn't get through the thick skull. 'I wanna talk to Carson.'

'Like I said, the boss don't want to be disturbed.'

Starsky strode across the room in two steps. He felt antsy and this flake wasn't helping. He grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him against the wall, staring eye to eye. 'Tell Carson that **MR** Starsky is here to see him.'

From across the room a door opened and Leroy Carson stood silhouetted against the light from inside. 'Put Dellboy down Mr Starsky. Dell, go see to your business.' The goon brushed himself down, gave Starsky a quick glare and vanished into the back. Carson stood his ground.

'What can I do for you?' The dealer noticed with pleasure how pale Starsky was; how his face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and how the cop's hands shook slightly. Starsky turned to face him.

'One more score.'

'Already? You had enough yesterday.'

'Are you my Mom? I said I needed more.' Starsky held out the $25.

'The price has gone up.'

The brunet did a double take. 'What?'

Carson shrugged his shoulders knowing he had Starsky hook, line and sinker. 'I have a business to run and a lifestyle to maintain. The price has gone up.'

'You lousy good for nuthin... The price was $25 for a quarter. I pay you up front and you deliver. No-one said anythin' about prices goin' up' Starsky said and hated the fact that there was a note of desperation in his voice.'

'The price is the price. You want the shit, you pay my price' Carson smiled an irritating smile and leaned back against the wall, watching the anguish play over his customer's face.

Starsky felt the desperation spread through his body like wildfire. He wanted more horse. He needed more... no, he needed it to give to Dobey. _Remember that Davey boy? This is to give as evidence. Remember the job? Remember the evidence?_

'You gotta give me the score. Tomorrow we start a new price, right? But you never told me. You never said the price was goin' up. You gotta sell me the next score.'

'I don't gotta do nothin' man. My shit, my prices. Take 'em or leave 'em. As you told me a week ago, there's plenty more dealers you could buy from.'

Starsky made a charge for Carson. He hated the tall, good looking black man with his white smile and ruby tooth. He wanted to knock that tooth into the middle of next week. He wanted to explain to Carson just how much he was hurting and how much misery he was causing to his customers by being so unreasonable. Starsky made a grab for Carson but was intercepted by an equally large guy – the one who habitually carried the sub-machine gun. As the cop took notice of the weapon another flake came at him from the back, grabbed him around the shoulders and drove him to the ground.

The movement sent tongues of fire through Starsky's shoulder and he screamed at the movement, bringing Tammy to the door of the bedroom. The girl looked on, terrified as the goons hauled Starsky to his feet and started to drag him from the basement. Carson straightened his shirt and closed the door on the scene as the two guards dragged Starsky up the stairs. At the top, they held him against the wall as the one with the gun drove the butt of the weapon into the brunet's stomach. Starsky folded in two, dropping to his knees as he gasped for breath. The two goons left him where he was, went back down the steps and locked the door behind them.

Starsky stared at the grimy carpet inches from his face. So this was as low as an addict got and he was still without any "evidence" to show Dobey. No money, no drugs and a craving for another shot that was eating away at his mind like a cancer.

The girl on reception watched as Starsky slowly got to his feet, a hand wrapped protectively around his middle as he staggered out of the motel. She'd seen it all before and she'd been there herself. A slave to Leroy Carson, she had no sympathy for the men and women who came to Carson's door, begging for more. As Starsky staggered past, she looked away and resumed filing her nails.

Outside it was dark and quiet. With nothing left to do, Starsky managed to throw his leg over the Harley, gun the engine and turn back towards town.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Where to go? What to do now?

Should Starsky try looking for someone else to sell him a hit? Or should he head for the nearest bar and try to drown out the pains in his body and the wracking spasms in his muscles with some hard liquor? Somehow, the thought of drinking alone seemed to terrify him. They were after him now – Carson's men, Dobey's men- they were all after him and he had to get away and find somewhere safe.

The paranoia the drug induced played tricks with Starsky's mind. Had he been sober he would have known what was happening to him, but as he was, craving and in pain, every shadow and every noise became a threat to his very existence. In desperation and with a rapidly hammering heart, Starsky turned the Harley towards town and within 15 minutes was pulling up at the back entrance to the Pits.

Huggy would help him. Huggy would...Huggy would probably contact Dobey, or worse still, Hutch. Should he go in? Or should he find somewhere else?

The questions chased each other through Starsky's head, his thinking becoming more faulty as the craving for the drug threatened to take him over completely. He would chance it. It would be dark inside and Huggy would never know that anything was different about the cop. Inside, at least, Starsky might feel safe for a while...and he may find someone generous enough to share their score.

Pushing open the door to the bar, the brunet was relieved to see that Huggy was not at the bar and that only Rita was serving. He straightened himself up and walked to the bar. Rita looked up into the eyes of the man of her dreams. She'd always had the hots for Starsky but now, seeing him with a days growth of stubble, clad in black leather and with the Indian bead mirroring the exact blue of his eyes, she melted.

'How's it hangin' Starsky?' she asked.

Starsky forced a smile. He liked the rough and ready bar girl. She was tough, but she was also a push over. 'Good, and you look good enough to eat. Gimme a bourbon...and one for yourself.'

'On the rocks?'

'Hold the ice, and make it a double huh?'

Rita nodded and passed the glass and the bottle to Starsky. He unscrewed the top, poured himself a substantial measure with a shaky hand and downed the amber nectar in one. He poured another and replaced the cap.

'Gonna go and sit over there for a while' he shouted over the top of the music. He indicated a booth at the back of the dark, noisy room and Rita nodded.

'I'll keep 'em coming.'

Starsky wove his way unsteadily through the dancers on the floor. The music beat at his ears and the coloured lights stabbed at his eyes and he was happy when he reached the relative comfort and privacy of the booth. God he felt like shit! His hands shook so badly that Starsky compared himself for a moment to Mickey, the little snitch who helped him and Hutch on occasion. The thought floored the brunet and he took another quick chug of the bourbon to shake the vision.

How could he feel lonely when there was a room full of people? How could he feel as though he was the only person on earth? How could he feel as though he had no friends? Looking around, Starsky analysed the question. Hutch. Hutch was the missing person. Maybe without Hutch, Starsky wouldn't have gotten himself into such a corner. Fuck it, if Hutch had been there, the Starsky would have been safe.

Once again the insane feeling of hate welled up inside him – a feeling he never thought he'd have towards his partner and best friend. It washed away as quickly as it had come. Hutch was his friend, of course and Hutch was doing what good little cops all over the world were doing – the job. The fact that this particular job did not include Starsky was not Hutch's fault and once again the brunet felt the loneliness crowd in against him.

The curly haired, paranoid cop looked around and watched the door to the bar open up and a familiar figure slide inside and look around. The brunet drew himself further into the shadows of the booth but it was too late. The girl had already spotted he curly haired man and was making a bee line for him through the dancers. As Starsky watched, Tammy slid into the booth next to him and looked up into his face.

'Are you ok?'

'Yeah, just peachy. Why shouldn't I be?'

'Coz the boss' men aren't too gentle. Did they hurt you?'

Starsky's hand went automatically to the large bruise forming across his stomach. 'Nuthin I can't handle. Why're you here?'

Tammy ignored the barbed comment. 'You wanted a score and the boss wasn't selling. I kinda thought we could um...you know, get a room, maybe go back to yours...'

Starsky snorted. 'Right now honey I couldn't get it up if Kim Bassinger walked into the room.'

'Maybe this might help?' Tammy brought out a small vial from between her breasts and held it up to the light. The dull brown liquid held Starsky's gaze like a magnet and suddenly he felt like there was light at the end of the tunnel. So Tammy was barely legal – she'd come onto him, right? He wasn't doing any forcing and she was gonna share. Maybe if they scored first he wouldn't need to fuck her after all.

Starsky's hungry eyes never left the vial. 'How much?'

'There's $50 here. You told the boss you had $25. I figured we share – half and half. That's fair aint it?'

_The $25 is for evidence Davey. Don't forget the evidence._ The small voice in the back of Starsky's head was almost drowned out by his craving for just one more shot. Maybe he would just take the girl and not take the drug. Yeah, and maybe the sun won't shine tomorrow! _C'm'on Davey. Get real. You know you want it. You know you need it. Just go with the girl. One last shot and then you'll figure something out. This is the last – enjoy!_

From the bar, Huggy Bear watched his friend talking with the young girl. He remembered Starsky's words from a week ago. _Whatever I do, don't interfere, even if it looks like I'm making a bad decision. It's cool._ Somehow, though, this didn't seem cool. Rita had told him Starsky was in the bar and that the cop didn't look too good. Huggy had expected his friend to be in pain maybe – that shoulder wound had been a bad one – and yet looking at the cop from a distance, Huggy would almost have said that Starsky was on something. He seemed shaky, pale and even from this distance, he seemed to have a fine sheen of sweat on his face. Huggy sighed. Should he do what his conscience told him was the right thing, or should he leave Starsky to do whatever Starsky was gonna do? Huggy's eyes followed the scene in the booth some more.

Starsky wriggled in his seat. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to make himself comfortable before he did it. Rising unsteadily from his seat, Starsky leaned forwards and pecked Tammy on the cheek. 'Be right back. I'm just gonna drain the main vein. Wait for me?'

The girl nodded and watched as Starsky made his way across the dance floor and out to the bathrooms at the back of the bar. As Starsky walked past, Huggy got a good look at his friend and came to his decision. As the brunet closed the door to the bathroom, Huggy snapped $100 from his till and headed across to the booth. He reached in and grabbed Tammy by her arm, pulling her out from the seat gently but firmly. She glared at him.

'Hey. What the hell?'

'I don't know what you're doin' with my friend the curly headed one, but you can stop right now lady.'

Tammy flung her long hair over her shoulder. 'It's none of your business.'

Huggy grabbed her arm and held it, tracing the puncture wounds up her vein with his finger. 'Somehow this makes it my business. I run a clean establishment and that means no business, 'cept mine.'

Tammy snorted. 'A girl's got to make a living.'

'Then let this be the start of a new day.' Huggy slammed the $100 into her hand and propelled her towards the door, his eye on the passageway down to the bathrooms. He pushed Tammy outside. 'Take the money and vamoose. Don't come back and don't come lookin' for Starsky, he aint available. Capiche?'

'I get ya' Tammy said, her eyes on the money in her hand. It would have been nice to have Starsky all to herself one more time, but business was business. She turned away and then thought better of it. As Huggy started to go back into the bar she grabbed his arm.

'You're his friend, aren't you?'

'From way back.'

The girl's face turned serious. 'Then help him. He aint the usual sort who gets himself strung out. Help him, before it's too late huh?'

Huggy found himself really looking at Tammy for the first time. She was so thin that her ribs stuck out, her eyes huge in her head. 'You need help too. There's a woman's refuge on 22nd. They have vacancies. Maybe this is your chance huh? Clean start and all that?'

Tammy looked once more at the money. $100 was more than she'd had to herself in a long time. She grinned. 'Maybe' she said and walked off into the night leaving Huggy to decide what to do next.

As the bar tender walked back into the room, Starsky was making his way back towards the booth. The brunet stopped staring stupidly at the empty space where his ticket to heroin had been. It took a second to process the information. Tammy had gone and Starsky whirled around, his eyes scanning the room. Huggy walked up.

'Starsky, my man. How's it hangin'?'

'Great. Did you see a girl I was with?'

'You don't look so good.'

Starsky wiped his hand over his eyes. 'I said I'm fine. Did you see Tammy? She and I were...'

Huggy looked closely at his friend. Starsky was pale and sweating. Occasionally his face creased as a cramp hit the muscles in his body and when Huggy looked into his face, Starsky's eyes were pin prick bright.

'What the hell have you done at yourself Bro?' Huggy asked calmly.

A guilty look washed over Starsky's face. 'Nuthin.'

Huggy looked around. 'You want a drink?'

'I want to find the girl.'

'C'm'on Starsky, let's go upstairs, me, you and nice Jim Beam, huh? Just like the old times. We can chew the fat, get a little drunk, talk.'

Starsky tried to look past Huggy's tall, lanky figure. 'Some time soon huh? Meantime, I gotta find...'

'Your score? Is that what you're lookin' for?'

'My?... What the fuck? You think I'm usin'?' Starsky tried for accusatory and made a fine show of guilt instead.

Huggy's face softened. 'I'm sayin' you need help my friend.'

'I don't need no help from a so called friend who thinks I'm some junky just coz I'm in pain.' The brunet started to turn his back and walk away and Huggy grabbed a hold of him, forgetting for an instant about the injury to his left shoulder. Damaged again by the flakes at Carson's place, the small amount of force Huggy used was too much and Starsky screamed, grabbing a hold of his shoulder as his knees sagged and he leaned hard against the table in the booth. He doubled, panting as Huggy grabbed him around the waist.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

Starsky regained some of his breath. 'It's fine.'

'Yeah, and my Mom is Mother Teresa! Starsky, my man, you need help.'

'I need you to leave me alone' the brunet almost shouted. 'I need everyone to leave me alone. Get the fuck away from me and leave me alone. Ya hear? Ya hear me? Do ya?'

Huggy Bear watched in awe as the tough, streetwise cop in front of him, seemed to melt down until all pretence of hardness had gone and only Dave Starsky, fallible and human remained. Starsky's body seemed to give up the fight and he leaned into Huggy's arms, his head rested against the Bear's chest.

'Help me?' Starsky whispered.

Huggy swallowed hard. 'Sure I'll help ya. Let's get you upstairs right now huh? I'll get Rita to make coffee and we can talk.'

For a moment Starsky felt a prick of tears in the corner of his eye. He didn't deserve this kindness and yet kindness wouldn't get him a score either. Just one more fix and he'd be cool. One more and he'd be able to do this all by himself. Raggedly he pushed himself away.

'Some other time huh?'

Huggy shook his head. 'No. Now. We go upstairs and you talk the talk to the Bear. I know you're on sumthin. What is it? Horse? LSD? What the fuck are you doin' to yourself man?'

Starsky lifted his head. 'I don't know.'


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Huggy took hold of Starsky's arm and propelled the cop towards the door leading up the stairs to the first floor room. As they passed the bar Rita looked up.

'Hold the fort for a while huh?' Huggy asked. 'Me and Starsky here are just gonna have a little talk.'

Rita nodded and went back to serving customers as Starsky staggered up the steps in front of Huggy. He pushed open the door to the large living/bedroom and stood just inside, swaying slightly.

Huggy pushed the brunet further in, brought up a chair and indicated that Starsky should sit down. The cop did as he was told for a second and then got up and started to pace the room.

'Nice of you to invite me up, but I gotta go.'

Huggy shook his head. 'Not so fast Starsky. You need help.'

'Not the sort you think I need.' Almost desperately, Starsky looked around for a means of escape. 'I told ya I was on a job. I need to work Hug.'

'Does the work entail gettin' stoned?'

Starsky stopped in his tracks. 'I'm not stoned.'

'Then what's with the sweats and the cramps?'

'I had ya fooled? See, I told Dobey I was a great actor. My cousin Paul taught me all he knows.'

'Starsky my man, I've seen you act. It's pitiful. I've seen you mad as hell, I've seen you in pain. I've even seen you cry, but I've never seen you like this.'

'I told ya, I'm...'

Huggy shook his head as Starsky recommenced his pacing. 'There's actin' and there's actin' and you are not the Oscar type. I can read you like a book Starsky. You aint actin.'

'I'm workin' Huggy. Or at least I should be.'

'Does the work mean that you turn up at my bar, try to score with a baby girl and then ask me for help?'

Starsky whirled around. 'Shudup huh? You fucked up the job with your interferin'. I had it covered. I had it all sewn up and...'

'Show me your arms.'

'It's late, you got in the way. I'm in no mood Huggy...'

'Show me your arms.' Huggy got up and walked towards the brunet as Starsky backed up.'

'Go to hell. I hurt. So I took some stuff to take the pain away. I fuckin' hurt and the Docs don't give a damn.'

Huggy reached out to grab Starsky's arm. The cop jerked himself away from the grasp. 'Don't' he growled. 'Just don't push it Hug.'

'Why? You got somethin' to hide Starsky? You don't trust me? I want to help' Huggy's voice was soft, reasonable and level.

'I'm warnin' ya.'

Huggy was now an arm's length away from the brunet and gently he reached out. Starsky, backed into a corner, stood his ground, sweating heavily. He felt antsy, as though fire ants were marching through his body and prickling over his skin. He wanted to run, fight, strip off his skin. He wanted a fix and there was a tall, lanky man in his way. Without a conscious thought Starsky watched the arm stretch out towards him and he reacted like a cornered cougar. With a muted roar of rage, Starsky gripped Huggy's arm around the wrist with his left hand and with his right, relatively pain fee arm, he drew back and sank his fist into Huggy's face once, twice and finally on the third time the light went out of his friend's dark brown eyes and Huggy's body slid to the ground. Huggy never stood a chance.

Breathing heavily Starsky looked down at his fallen buddy. He was filled with remorse but also with a satisfying feeling of being free. Now he could get out. Now he could find some way to score and then go home and figure out what to do next. The idea of another shot of heroin was all consuming. After almost a week of daily shots, the brunet was well and truly addicted. The pains in his shoulder redoubled, the bruise across his stomach adding to his woes. He knelt by the side of Huggy's body and checked that the black man was breathing. Huggy's eye was already swelled closed and there was blood from a gash across his eyebrow but he was breathing deeply and evenly.

Feeling sorry and yet oddly satisfied, Starsky headed back down the stairs. At the bottom he rapped on the bar and when Rita came over he smiled at her, knowing she would do anything for him.

'Huggy says he's taking the rest of the night off – he's feelin' sick. We were talkin' up there and he and I have a deal goin' on. He says to tell you to take $50 out of the till. I'll have double back for him tomorrow.'

Rita smiled back at the handsome cop. She was used to her boss' dealings and ways to make money and trusted Starsky implicitly. He was a cop after all! Without making a fuss, she opened the till and took out two $20 and a $10 and handed them over. Starsky leaned over the bar and kissed her quickly, his prickly stubble rasping against her cheek. Rita liked this new "rough look" Starsky and as he turned and threaded his way through the crowded bar she admired the taut butt and slim hips accentuated by the short black leather jacket.

One day, she thought, she may just stand a chance.

Huggy Bear came back to consciousness slowly wondering for a moment why he was staring up at the ceiling of his spare room rather than at the contents of his cash register. With a groan, the black man tried to sit up. The pains in his head exploded and suddenly the whole sickening memory came back to him full force. Starsky; the accusations; the proof that his friend was in trouble big time.

With a hiss, Huggy got to his feet and staggered into the bathroom, staring at the blossoming bruises and closed eye in the bathroom mirror. He'd had worse, for sure, but somehow these injuries hurt more than ever because they'd been inflicted by his friend – and Huggy had been unable to help.

Casting his mind back, Huggy shuddered at the memory of the cop's appearance. Thinner than the last time he'd seen him, Starsky seemed rougher – almost feral. Gone was the Californian cop that the Bear knew and in his place was the streetwise hellion from Brooklyn and a shadow of what Starsky might have become had Rachel not sent her eldest son away to live with his Aunt.

Starsky needed help and he needed it now. Huggy just didn't buy the whole "on a job" speech. Dobey would never have set one of his men up to take drugs just to get a bust, but that could the bartender do? Hutch was out of town, and whatever trouble Starsky had gotten himself into it would not be the sort of thing that the brunet would want Dobey to know about.

Huggy took a towel from the bathroom, went into the living/bedroom and got the ice tray out of the fridge. He emptied the contents onto the towel, made it into a rough bundle and gingerly applied it to his swollen face. With a sigh and trying to ignore the pains in his head, Huggy sat down on the easy chair and tried to think. What had Hutch said about his job? Not a lot really other than he was working out of town, that he would be gone for a while and that he would call when he could. He'd also asked that Huggy keep an eye on Starsky, knowing how much the brunet had wanted to get back to work. _Ya did real good there, didn't ya, Hug?_

Ok, so Hutch was out of town on a job. He said he'd be gone a while and he was working with...working with...with... The headache and double vision made Huggy feel sick to his stomach and made thinking tough, but this was important and Huggy swallowed down the nausea and concentrated. Hutch was on a job and he was working with...

Gee! Roy Gee. Huggy remembered the conversation he'd had with the blond cop before he went. Hutch had explained that he would be doing the lion's share of the job because Gee's wife was due to have their second child and Gee didn't want to be too far away when the main event happened.

Roy Gee. Of course! Why hadn't Huggy remembered that earlier? The young cop came into the bar sometimes with his wife. They were a great couple and Huggy liked the youngster's honesty and sense of humour. He also now had some idea of what to do and feeling slightly better about the whole deal, Huggy prized himself out of the chair and made his way over to the telephone. Keeping the ice pack on his eye with one hand, the bartender jabbed on the dial of the phone with the other and waited to be connected to the operator. When the woman's voice came on the line, he asked for the number for Roy Gee and within a minute was dialling the number, regardless of the fact that it was 12.30 in the morning.

The phone rang and was picked up on the third tone. A sleepy voice answered and Huggy interrupted him.

'Roy?'

'Uh huh. Who is this?'

'It's Huggy. Huggy Bear. Listen man, I hate to call you so late, but I have a small problem and I need your help.'

'I'm not on duty Huggy. Call the cops, huh?'

'It's Starsky.'

There was a pause and Huggy could picture the young cop sitting up and wiping the sleep from his eyes. 'Is he ok?'

'Not exactly, but I don't want to go into detail. Thing is, I need Hutch down here, P.D.Q. and I was kinda hoping...'

'But Starsky's ok? I mean, is he in the hospital?' Gee persisted.

'Like I said. I don't wanna say too much. He's at home, but he needs some help – he needs Hutch.'

'I can go out and relieve him.'

Huggy smiled down the phone gratefully. 'That's what I was hopin'. And Roy? This is between you, me and Hutch, huh? Just tell the blond one to get his ass down to the Pits and I'll fill him in. You're a good man Roy.'

There was a grunt. 'Tell that to Maria when she wakes up tomorrow to find me gone. I'm trustin' you to pick up the pieces Huggy. Night.'

Huggy replaced the receiver. There was nothing he could do now but wait.

The cabin was in darkness when Gee pulled up outside it. He looked at his watch. 1.20. He impressed himself with the speed he'd managed to get up the mountain and tried to ignore the sigh and the recriminating look in his wife's eyes as he left her. Fishing the key to the cabin out of his pocket, Gee let himself in and stood just inside the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark. As he started to move towards the bedroom, he felt rather than heard a movement to his left, the light flashed on and he was just in time to see Hutch come out of a shoulder roll, his gun aimed squarely at Gee's heart. There was a moment of sheer terror and then the blond in front of him relaxed, put up his gun sheepishly and stood up.

'Is that any way to greet your partner?' Roy asked shakily.

Hutch stood up and holstered his gun. 'My partner should be back in Bay City snuggling into the arms of the delectable Maria. What the hell are you doin' here?'

Gee took a deep breath to quell his shaken nerves. 'I got a call from Huggy about an hour ago. It's Starsky.'

'Starsky? Is he ok? Is he hurt?'

Gee raised his hands. 'I don't think he's hurt. He's not in the hospital. Huggy wasn't big on details. He just said to tell you that Starsky was in trouble and that we should keep it between the three of us. That's why I'm here – so you can go and see what's brewin'.'

Hutch cursed. 'What the hell has he gone and done now? Gimme a minute. Vic's sleepin' like a baby in the bedroom. All's been quiet. He has to be at the courthouse at 10.00am tomorrow. They're letting him in through the back door. Plain, unmarked cars, no uniforms around – just another day at the county court. Can you handle it?'

Gee smiled reassuringly. 'Piece of cake. Now go and see to Starsky. I'm fine up here. I got it covered, ok? Go!'

With a grateful smile Hutch headed for the door, he turned as he got outside. 'I owe you one.'

'If it's a boy, we'll call him after you.'

'Kenneth?'

Gee snorted. 'Maybe not. Go!'


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Hutch wound his way down the mountain at almost breakneck speed, the battered brown LTD taking the corners on two wheels, sending sprays of gravel and dirt over the side of the mountain. Inside the car, Hutch sat tensed over the wheel, his capable hands threading the Bakelite through the curves. His mind was a maelstrom. Hutch's emotions ran the gamut from anger that Starsky had somehow gotten himself hurt again, through worry at what injuries his partner had sustained to plain anger at himself for not being there to keep the smaller man from harm. Not that Hutch was Starsky's keeper – that could never be levelled at either cop. They were their own men through and through but there were occasions when their "mother" (or was it father) instinct took over and they came over all protective. Now was one of those times and Hutch shuddered at the memory of his partner's pain after the shooting.

The drive down the mountain seemed interminable. Although in reality the cabin was only 40 miles from the centre of the city, the surroundings showed that it could have been in a different state. The trees and greenery that had had Hutch entranced earlier in the week now took on a different feeling. In the dark, they loomed over the road, highlighted by the piercing twin beams from the car's headlights. They seemed to reach out and grab for the car as it sped past, somehow determined to stop the blond cop from getting home to Starsky. Shadows fell across the road, menacing and dark; moths cut their brief lives even shorter as they slammed against the windshield and above the noise of the engine, the cicadas sang their songs.

As the road flattened out, the flaxen haired cop put the pedal to the metal and slammed his mars light onto the top of the car. It would have been too much to switch on the sirens as well, but at least this way, honest passers-by would realise that this was a cop on a mission.

The centre of the city flew past, the high rise offices and brightly lit stores mocking Hutch's attempts to get to Ridgeway quickly. He ran red lights, ignoring the screeching of tires behind him as he sped on until the city dissolved into housing estates and commuter houses. Taking a swift right, Hutch floored the gas as the big car tore down Ridgeway North, across the intersection and on to Ridgeway South – and his partner's apartment. Within a minute, Hutch had pulled to a halt outside the familiar building and was bouncing out of the car and taking the steps up to the front door three at a time. At the top, he paused, suddenly realising that the Torino was nowhere to be seen. Had Starsky crashed it? Is that why Huggy had sounded so rattled?

Hutch tried the handle on the door. It wasn't locked although the living room seemed to be in darkness. Curiouser and curiouser! The brunet always locked his door. He used to tell Hutch that it was a throw-back to living in the Big Apple where if the door wasn't locked anyone would come in and take your last dime.

Carefully Hutch pushed open the door and stepped inside, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the dark. Quietly he closed the door behind him and looked around.

'Starsk?'

There was no answer although the room showed some signs of life. Starsky's black leather jacket was thrown casually over the arm of the sofa and his bedroom door stood ajar. Things must be bad if his neat-freak of a partner hadn't hung up his jacket. Hutch crossed the room just as he heard a small noise from the bedroom.

'Starsk? Starsky?' he called.

There was a muffled sigh but nothing else and Hutch pushed open the door to the bedroom.

Starsky lay on the bed on his back, fully dressed, his arms out-flung and his eyes closed. He was breathing deeply and evenly and from the doorway Hutch could see no fresh injuries on the brunet's body. What the hell was this all about?

As Hutch took another step into the room, the front door opened again. The blond looked over his shoulder as Huggy came in, slightly out of breath. Hutch turned his attention back to his partner, crossed the room and sat down gently on the edge of the bed.

'Starsky?'

Very slowly, the brunet rolled his head on the pillow. His face was slack, his eyes closed and his skin pale and clammy. He looked sick, and yet...

'Starsk, talk to me partner. What's goin' on huh? STARSKY!'

The raised voice got some reaction from the man on the bed, but not the one Hutch would have expected. Starsky put his hands up to his ears as though in pain and rolled over onto his side, away from his buddy, drawing his knees up to his chest.

Hutch turned back towards Huggy and in doing so, his eyes skimmed the nightstand. He took a cursory look, looked away and then, with horror, looked back at the vial, the small bottle...and the syringe and needle. With growing recognition, Hutch picked up the syringe as though it was a loaded gun and sniffed at it. His eyes strayed back to Huggy, who stood frozen in the doorway.

Icily, Hutch put down the incriminating needle. 'Care to tell me what the fuck is goin' on?'

Huggy held up his hands. 'I wanted to get here first, but...' the bartenders hand went up to his face and for the first time Hutch realised that Huggy was hurt.

'You're cut up?'

Huggy shrugged. 'It aint no big deal.'

'Who did it? Who did this to him?'

Huggy stared at the ground uncomfortably. 'We got some talkin' to do.'

'Explainin' more like. What's been goin' on Hug?'

'Come into the living room and we can talk.'

Hutch shook his head. 'I need to speak to Starsky. Who did this to him? Who'd do this? Carson? Is this some perverted way of gettin' back at my partner? He forced...'

Huggy shook his head. 'No-one forced him.'

Hutch's head whipped around. 'But he's stoned. Someone must've done this. Who?'

'We need to talk' Huggy said quietly.

Hutch stood up. 'Talk later. I wanna find the bastard that did this to my partner.'

'I told ya, no-one forced him.'

With a yell of rage, Hutch made a grab for Huggy and held him against the wall of Starsky's bedroom. 'You'd better have a damned good explanation for what you just said. Do you know what you're implying?'

Huggy's eyes bored into Hutch's. 'Yeah.'

'Just to be clear here. You're sayin' that my partner is a junkie?'

Huggy's hands came up and covered Hutch's. 'I'm sayin' that we have a lot of talkin' to do my friend, and right now.'

Hutch looked back at his sleeping partner. 'He's no junkie. There's a mistake. Someone forced him. Starsky would never...'

'Starsky was in a whole shitload of pain. More than he told us about. When a man's hurtin' so bad, it's amazin' what lengths he'll go to' Huggy explained gently, his body relaxed in Hutch's grip.

As though suddenly remembering that he still had a hold of the black man, Hutch let go of Huggy's shirt and turned back to the bed. Slowly he walked back and sank onto the mattress next to Starsky's body. The brunet didn't move and Hutch reached out and ran his fingers through the damp, matted curls.

'Shit Starsk. What've ya done? What the fuck did you do?' Of course there was no answer although Hutch longed for Starsky to open his eyes and give his trademark lopsided grin. He felt sick to his stomach, part of him happy that Starsky wasn't injured in the true sense of the word, the other half of him angry and confused about the drug and the state his buddy was in.

Carefully, Hutch got up, suddenly feeling so weary that he could hardly take a step. He staggered from the bedroom and out into the living room where Huggy had switched on a couple of the lights. In the rich amber glow, Hutch took his first good look at Huggy's face. The whole side of it was swollen, the right eye closed and purple. The gash across his right eyebrow had stopped bleeding, but dried, crusted blood still showed down the side of the black man's face. Silently, and almost automatically, Hutch gathered together a bowl of water, cotton wool and Starsky's first aid box. Huggy said nothing as the blond man set to work cleaning his injuries with gentle and practiced hands. At the end of five minutes quiet work, Hutch stuck a bandaid over the gash on Huggy's forehead, poured away the bowl of water and stood numbly at the sink.

'I should never have left him' the blond man muttered.

Huggy swivelled in his seat so that he could look at Hutch. 'You're not his keeper, man.'

'I'm his partner. I'm meant to watch his back' Hutch spat bitterly, his hands clawing at the sink until his knuckles were white.

'You're not Superman. You got your own life to lead and so does he. Dobey gave you a job to do and unless I'm mistaken, you're a cop and cops are meant to work.'

Hutch turned around and leaned on the counter top. 'Talk to me. Tell me what happened huh?'

'Come and sit down, I'll get us a drink.'

'You're stalling.'

Huggy shook his head with a sigh. 'Not stallin'. I need a drink as much as you're goin' to. Are you carrying?'

Hutch looked surprised. 'Yeah.'

'Then give me the piece man.' Huggy held out his hand.

'Why? You hate guns.'

'Gimme the gun and sit down. At the end of this I don't want you chargin' off into the sunset like some kind of blond avengin' angel. I keep the gun for a while. Deal?'

Hutch nodded suspiciously, but he trusted Huggy for the most part and reluctantly he emptied the bullets out into his hand and handed the Magnum over to the black man. Huggy slipped it into the back of his jeans, got two glasses and a fresh bottle of bourbon and sat down. Hutch stood and watched feeling numb.

'Sit down Blondie.'

'I'd rather stand.'

'I got a lot of talkin' to do and I'm gonna get a crick in my neck. Sit down and take a drink huh?' Huggy's voice was sharper...almost commanding and slowly Hutch did as he was bid.

'So talk.'

'I had no idea what was goin' on, I swear.'

Hutch shook his head. 'I'm not blamin' anyone but myself.'

'Well don't. Starsky took the job. He needed to work, but like I said, I don't think any of us knew how much pain he was in. He came into the bar the night he took the job and told me if I saw him makin' what looked like a mistake, I should butt out, he was workin'.'

'That was the deal. He was goin' undercover. He and Dobey staged a bust up in the Metro, makin' it look like Starsk had quit. He needed the cover to get to his target.'

'Leroy Carson.' Huggy nodded.

'You knew?'

'Not until about two hours ago, then I started to dig. Word on the street is that one Sergeant Starsky is an ex Sergeant Starsky. Word is that he's into Carson for about $750. Now I may not know all about the curly one's business, but unless I'm seriously mistaken, Starsky don't have two dimes to rub together, let alone almost a K to throw around.'

'It was money to score from Carson. The deal was that Starsky went in there as a very pissed off ex cop, wanting to feed his habit. The idea was that he scored and brought the dope back to the metro as evidence.'

Huggy sighed. 'Sumthin told me there wasn't no evidence to produce. I saw him once or twice at the Pits. Starsky looked ok. He looked tired and kinda pale, but I put that down to burnin' the candle at both ends and goin' back to work too soon. He was meetin' with a girl fairly regular, but tonight he came in and... Well let's say I knew I needed to do sumthin.'

'What happened?'

'I don't know for sure, but I think he got worked over. Somewhere along the line, he's been usin' and that usually leads to bad karma, ya dig. Carson had obviously tried the "that aint enough dough for the score" routine coz Starsky looked like shit. He sat at the back of the bar and the girl came in. I think she'd got some shit and our curly friend was all ready to share.'

'What's her name?'

'It don't matter.'

'Her name Hug. I want a name' Hutch's voice sounded harsh in the quiet of the apartment.

'Tammy. It's cool. I intercepted, gave her some advice and she went. It wasn't till I confronted Starsky that he finally admitted he needed help. I was all ready to deal when he um... Well lets just say he didn't want my company huh?'

'You mean he did that to you?' The blond's voice was small and quiet.

'He was hurtin'. I think you know what that feels like?'

_You said you're my friend. Be one..._

_I just want a candy bar..._

Hutch's mind took him back eleven months to Huggy's room. He'd shaken so much he'd felt his teeth rattle in his head. He'd felt so antsy he'd wanted to strip off his own skin. He'd yelled, pleaded, cried, hit out, all because of a dirty brown liquid and he still hated himself for his weakness.

'I know' he said softly.

'So when he took some money from my cash register, that's when I knew I needed help. And so does he.'

'You mean he took the shit voluntarily?'

Huggy shook his head. 'When he did the great escape, I found the girl again. She and I had a little heart to heart. Apparently the first night, Carson was suspicious that Starsky's actin' was just that – actin'. He didn't believe that he'd quit the force and the only way he'd deal was if Starsky... look, you gotta admit Starsky takes a pride in his work.'

Hutch was on his feet now, pacing the living room. He turned back to Huggy. 'Tell me. I want it all' he spat.

'Carson would only deal if Starsky took the first hit in front of him' Huggy said in a rush.

'What? And he did? Starsky... The fuckin' fool. I can't believe that. He wouldn't. Starsk knows what that stuff is like. He'd never go so far just for the job. He had to be forced.'

Huggy shook his head. 'Listen to yourself. When did you ever know him shy away from a job? He's a professional and how many guys do you know who started this game by thinkin' its only one hit, what harm can it do?'

'No! He'd never. He'd...he'd not...he...' Hutch sank down onto the chair, his mind going back to his own experience.

"_He's taken to it like a baby..."._

_The words floated on the air around Hutch. He felt so good. Warm, comfortable. He loved them all. It didn't matter that a few hours ago these same men had tied him to a chair and beaten the crap out of him. The bruises on his face and chest didn't hurt any more. He could breathe past the broken rib. Jinny would be fine. Starsky would be fine. The whole world would be just fine. Hutch loved the world and everyone in it. He snuggled into a ball on the floor, feeling the hard boards give beneath his body so that it was like sinking into the softest feather bed. Later, when they shone the light in his eyes and sank the needle into his vein again, he'd welcomed the rush of euphoria. They were his friends. The whole world was his friend..._

Hutch scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He hated the drug. He hated the thoughts of his partner being strung out on it. But the thing he hated the most was the awful thought, lurking at the back of his mind. He'd never let that thought out, keeping it buried in a deep dark place. He'd never admitted the thought, even to himself until now, because it scared the crap out of him. Someone had once said once a junkie, always a junkie and Hutch had laughed at the idea.

But the thought that ate away at him night and day was this; he loved the feeling of the heroin. He loved the euphoria and the absence of struggle.

And the really scary thing was that, given half a chance, he'd do it all again.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 22**

Hutch and Huggy talked late into the wee small hours. Huggy told his friend that Starsky had come to him that night telling him that he was in deep shit. At first, Huggy took that snippet at face value – of course he was in trouble...he was hooked on horse for god's sake. But then reason had set in, and Huggy had realised what Starsky meant. $750 to buy heroin. $750 of tax payer's money handed to the cop so that he could do his job, and Starsky had blown the lot.

'Has he got the money to pay it back?' Huggy asked, already knowing the answer.

Hutch snorted. 'He barely has enough to buy food. When did you ever know Starsky have money?'

'So you go back and arrest Carson.'

'Yeah, that'd be real good Hug. I can imagine the conversation. "Yes Captain Dobey Sir. Of course I sold the heroin to your Sergeant". Dobey is gonna want the drug. Do you wanna tell him Starsk is hooked?'

'So what? You want me to get someone to lean on Carson?' Huggy asked. There was silence in the living room, the tick of the clock on the wall the only voice. Hutch scratched his head, a thought floating up from the other tangle of emotions.

'No. I have a better idea.' Hutch got up and went to the phone. He asked for a patch through to Roy Gee's car, knowing Gee would have stationed himself outside the cabin rather than being inside with Monty. When the phone crackled and Gee answered he asked for the mobster.

'He's sleepin' like a baby' Gee said, sounding surprised.

'Roy, it's important. Just drag him out, huh?'

'Is this about Starsky? Is he ok?'

Hutch sighed. He'd known Gee for a couple of years and trusted him implicitly, but there were still things he'd prefer to keep quiet. 'Starsky's... he'll be ok. But when you bring Vic out Roy, keep your distance huh? There are things it's best you don't hear. Trust me?'

Gee did trust Hutch, with his life if necessary. He nodded and sighed over the radio. 'Sure thing. Gimme a minute huh?'

There was the sound of the radio being put down, the crackle of feet on dirt, the sound of a door opening and muffled voices. Two minutes later a sleepy voice sounded over the radio.

'Detective? What the hell do you want?'

'I want you to listen, and listen good. My partner – the one who took the bullet for you? He's in trouble and you're gonna help.'

'After the kindness you've shown me? I don't think so.'

Hutch ground his teeth together. 'Listen you slimy bastard. You want the whole of the city to know your little pastimes? Huh? I'm sure Tony could be real amusing, given half the chance in court.'

'You have my attention' Monty replied sullenly.

'There are a couple of guys been asking questions about where you've gone already. Fox Muldrew? Remember him? He had seventeen men machine gunned down in cold blood. Remember what he did to Ernie Harrow? Chopped his head clean off his shoulders. As I remember, he chopped something else off first. We found Ernie with his own dick stuffed into his open mouth. It wasn't the prettiest sight in the world. Fox has been askin' about you. He's worried about what you're gonna say at the hearing tomorrow.'

'And?' Monty's voice sounded a little more tense.

'And it'd be a shame if you were found on the streets of the city tonight. Wandering. Defenceless. Just the sort of target Fox would like right now.'

'Again, you have my attention Detective. What can I do for you?' Monty's voice held the shadow of a shake.

'You know a guy called Leroy Carson? He operates over by the docks.'

'I know him. He was a bit player, but he's enterprising.'

'You name him tomorrow. You let his name slip that maybe he's after some more territory in the city. Maybe Fox Muldrew's territory.'

'You want me to put a contract out on Carson?'

Hutch gritted his teeth. 'I want you to tell it like it is. Carson is a low life, but like you say, he's a business man. He may even want your patch one day Monty. God knows there's enough flakes out there who seem to want your ass.'

There was a snicker down the line. 'Well when you put it like that... What's in it for me?'

'Satisfaction. And the knowledge that when you've served your time, your territory will still be safe for you to come out and protect your retirement.'

There was a moment's pause. 'It's a deal. I give them Carson as a lead name, and you get me the best cell in the jail. TV, a supply of entertainment...'

'I give you protection, nothin' more.'

'And if Carson shouldn't quite make it to the hearing?'

Hutch's heart pounded in his chest. That was a step too far. 'What you do or say is your business.' The blond put down the phone, his hand shaking and took the glass of bourbon that Huggy handed him. 'One problem down, one to go.'

Huggy looked up. 'Another?'

'The money. The $750'

The black man shook his head. 'No problem. It's paid.' From his back pocket, Huggy took out a wodge of notes and peeled off some of them. '$750.' He held it out to Hutch.

'I can't. I can't take that Hug.'

Huggy shrugged his shoulders. 'Hey, who's givin' it? Call it a long term loan. If I ever need a bar tender, I'll know where to come.'

'But still, I can't...' Hutch's words were cut off by the bedroom door opening. Starsky staggered out and with his eyes half closed made his way to the kitchen. The living room was dimly lit and in shadow and it wasn't until the brunet had searched his cupboards that he turned and saw the two men in his apartment.

Huggy stood up. 'I think this is my cue to go.'

Hutch sighed. 'Thanks Huggy. Thanks for...'

Huggy touched Hutch on his shoulder as he walked past. 'Its nada. Good luck. And...be gentle huh?' The black man walked out of the room and left the two cops in silence.

Starsky gazed fuzzily at Hutch, his brain still struggling to process information after the last hit. The brunet felt warm and heavy, tired and relaxed. He also felt a twinge of embarrassment that Hutch should see him like this, and anger that the blond was interrupting his enjoyment of his drug.

'What're ya doin' here?' Starsky asked, eyeing up the bottle of bourbon on the coffee table. He walked slowly across the room, coming into the light from the table lamp. He reached for the bottle and poured himself a couple of inches of the brown liquid, taking a long chug and sighing as the liquor burned a fiery trail down his gut.

Hutch got his first good look at his partner. Usually the soft amber glow of a mood lamp will enhance. Blemishes and wrinkles are erased by the softening light, but nothing could disguise the gaunt appearance of the brunet. Starsky hadn't shaved in well over 24 hours and the dark stubble covered his jaw. His hair, usually springy and full and the colour of glossy dark chocolate clung to his head, dull and lifeless and Starsky's eyes were glassy and drooped as though he hadn't slept in days.

Hutch took a deep breath, shocked at his buddy's appearance and a wave of anger swept over him. Anger at himself for suggesting to Dobey that Starsky should work, and also anger that he, Hutch, had not been there to watch Starsky's back. Hutch waited a moment until he was sure his voice wouldn't falter.

'I got a message that a friend was in trouble.'

'Huh? Who?'

'I'm lookin' at him' Hutch said quietly.

Starsky took another long drink. The fire in the liquid seemed to help him think straight and he held the glass close. 'Me? I'm good.'

'Yeah?'

'Course. Couldn't be better.'

'You look like crap.'

Starsky started to take another drink and Hutch rose and took the glass from him. 'Hey!'

'Starsk look at yourself.'

Starsky tried to grin. 'You don't look too hot yourself in the middle of the night.'

'I don't usually look strung out.'

'Strung... Who looks strung out?' Starsky started to feel very defensive. The warm, comfortable feeling was leaving him and he wanted it back. Hutch had no right to come into his house accusing him. The blond had no idea what it had been like or how Starsky had felt. Anger started to swell up inside the brunet's chest, replacing the feelings of wellbeing.

'Look at yourself Starsk. When was the last time you ate?'

'The pain meds make me feel sick. If I eat, I throw up.'

'And which pain meds are those? The ones the Doc gave ya, or something else.'

Starsky's face turned angry. 'I don't know what you mean. I told ya, I'm fine, but I have a job to do tomorrow so close the door on your way out huh?'

'Where'd ya get the stuff Starsky?' Hutch's voice was low, level and held so much love and care that Starsky felt the first stirrings of regret. He'd never lied to his partner. He'd never been able to hide things from Hutch - the blond was too astute and too attuned to his partner's moods.

'It's the job. I have to make it look good otherwise I can't get the score from Carson.'

'There's makin' it look good and then there's goin' too far buddy.'

'I don't know what you mean' Starsky said defensively.

'I think you do. Why'd ya take it?'

'Take what? What? I didn't take nuthin.'

'Did you score?'

'Hey! You're talkin' to the guy who won the actin' prize for "Camille" remember. Course I scored.'

'Then where's the shit?'

'I... It aint here. It's...'

Hutch touched Starsky's arm gently and the brunet flinched. 'Why'd ya take it Starsk? Why?'

Suddenly the dam of emotions inside Starsky broke. He'd spent these last few days on his own, battling the pains in his body, the loneliness that came from an undercover job and the fear that he was being sucked under by the heroin. Ironically, the only way to alleviate that feeling of terror was to take more of the stuff and in the past five or six days, Starsky had spent most of his time in a dream-like state, hovering in that happy, warm, comfortable place between waking and sleeping, when the only thing that mattered was where and when he got the next hit. When he was on the nod, his body was comfortable, his pains gone. When the drug started to wear off, he lived in purgatory. He was in pain, he was scared...and he was also angry – at himself for not being stronger, and at Hutch because...because... He couldn't define why he was angry at Hutch, but suddenly the well of emotions washed over him and threatened to down him.

Starsky did the only thing he could think of. He lashed out at his buddy, with words and fists. With a roar of rage, Starsky took a step closer to Hutch and before the blond had a chance to see what was coming, the brunet's fist had connected hard with the side of Hutch's jaw. The blow sent the blond spinning to the ground and as Hutch fell, Starsky dropped with him, straddling the blond's body.

'You have no fuckin' idea. You've no idea how much I hurt, all the goddamn time. Take your sanctimonious outbursts. Save your pitying looks and stuff 'em. I did what I had to do for the job. The job – remember that. We're cops and cops have stuff to do, so don't come over all proper with me huh? ' Starsky growled. He drew back his fist again and aimed another blow at his partner.

Stunned, Hutch had just enough time to see this one coming and he managed to twist his head to the right as the blow whistled past his ear. Starsky's fist connected with the rug and wrung a yell of rage from the curly haired man.

'Starsk stop. Look at yourself. For god's sake stop this.'

'Stop what? You think I'm strung out, well you should know buddy. Don't come the innocent crap with me coz you've been there and don't tell me you didn't enjoy it.'

Hutch knew Starsky was hurting, but his angry words stung – partly because they held an element of truth. The blond responded with a blow of his own and instantly regretted it.

Starsky redoubled his efforts. Fighting made him feel better. It made him think quicker and it made the fire ants eating away at him go away for a while. Fuelled by his anger against himself, Hutch and the whole world in general Starsky continued to reign down blows. Some connected. Others missed as Hutch did his best to dodge them without hurting the smaller man but finally, as another fist connected with his face, Hutch knew he had to do something.

Had Starsky been in good health; had the brunet not been strung out on the heroin, it would have been a fairly equal fight and a betting man would not have liked the odds. But with the remains of the heroin still in Starsky's system adding to the pain from his shoulder and the huge bruise across his abdomen, Hutch was able to twist savagely, using his long powerful legs to push the brunet to the side and fast as a rattler striking, the blond reversed the positions, pinning Starsky to the floor and grabbing for the brunet's hands so that he could pin them above Starsky's head.

Both men froze, panting heavily but finally Hutch locked eyes with his partner, his own crystal blues boring into the stormy indigo pools beneath him.

'How much have you used?' Hutch asked as calmly as the position would allow.

Starsky stared up into the concerned face above him. He was still mad at Hutch, but the feeling was waning, to be replaced with anger at himself.

'Enough to keep the pain away' he answered defensively.

'How much?'

'You have no fuckin' idea how much I hurt. I...'

'As you so sweetly pointed out, I have a fuckin' good idea. How much?' Hutch ground out slowly.

'Two scores a day. Five days. You do the math.'

'And now?'

Starsky closed his eyes. That was the sixty four million dollar question. What now? A large part of him yearned for another hit. When he was under the influence of the heroin he felt so good and yet almost subliminally he knew it was wrong to take it; that the drug was taking over his body and that if he didn't do something now, then he was well and truly sunk. Yet there was the question of the money that he "borrowed", the money he'd taken from Huggy's cash register and the job that Dobey had asked him to do. He'd spent the money, he had nothing to show for it except for a set of puncture wounds in the crook of his arm and his shoulder hurt as much as ever. He'd let himself down, he'd let Dobey down, he'd let Huggy down...and he'd let Hutch down too.

It was too much. He'd done too much for him to be able to resolve it himself. He needed help. Starsky admitted to himself finally that he needed help and the only person he would truly accept it from was there, pinning him to the floor.

Starsky took a shaky breath and looked up into his buddy's concerned face. 'Help me' he whispered.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 23**

Two hours later saw the two cops sitting drinking cups of strong black coffee in Starsky's living room. Hutch had finally let him up from the floor, the blond's heart torn in two by those two pitiful words. "Help me" his partner had asked and Hutch didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Help him indeed. What did that mean? Help him kick the habit, or maybe, just maybe share the brunet in the final syringe full of horse and allow the cares of the world to pass them both by for a while.

Heroin was such an insidious drug. Once a body had gotten a taste for it, each nerve; each sinew remembered the sheer joy of the floating warmth and craved the next fix. Like a craving for nicotine, the longing for another fix never truly went away and even now, nine months after Hutch had gone cold turkey, he would have given almost anything to experience that total euphoria for one more time.

Could he trust himself to help Starsky? Could Hutch trust himself not to follow his partner down that long dark road? Looking at the start of the tremble in Starsky's hands and the beginnings of the cramps already hitting the brunet's body, Hutch's resolve grew stronger. He so clearly remembered lying doubled up on Huggy's bed with Starsky's strong arms around him as his partner force-fed him black coffee. His body would never forget the wracking pains of the withdrawal, nor the feeling of total depression that came after the nod and it was the thought of Starsky having to go through that that made up Hutch's mind. He could and he would be strong enough to resist the drug, because Starsky had been strong enough for him.

Two hours ago, when Hutch had helped Starsky up from the floor and dusted his friend down, he'd held his partner at arms length and looked into Starsky's eyes, boring his way into his buddy's soul.

'Do you really mean that? Do you really want to kick this?'

'You know I do, but god it hurts Hutch. It hurts so bad. I never thought one fuckin' bullet would hurt so bad.' Starsky staggered backwards and the blond caught him, holding on as the smaller man regained his equilibrium.

'First thing we're gonna do is get you cleaned up. Believe me, you'll thank me.'

'I hurt too much to shower.'

Hutch's face turned serious. 'Sorry Bud, but right now you don't know what hurt is. That'll come later.'

For a moment, the shadow of Starsky's lop sided grin flashed across his unshaven face. 'Gee, you say the nicest things.'

Hutch snorted and guided his buddy towards the bathroom. Starsky stood just inside the door like a small boy not really wanting to get clean. His will was slowly ebbing away as his cravings for another fix took a hold and finally, recognising the signs, Hutch turned on the water, stripped Starsky down and frowned at the huge blackened bruise across his friend's middle.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Hutch asked softly.

Starsky looked down as though seeing the bruise for the first time. 'Never got the chance. You were mashing my face into my rug as I recall.'

'Like you didn't start the fight first! Starsk get into the shower and scrub. I'm gonna make a call.'

'No ambulance. No hospital...' the brunet's voice filled with panic and Hutch stopped at the door.

'Trust me huh? No hospital.'

As Starsky hauled himself into the shower and started to soap himself, Hutch glanced at his watch and jabbed at the buttons on the telephone. Huggy Bears voice answered on the fourth ring and held no hint of sleep. The Bear had always been a night animal and he had probably just got home from visiting with Hutch anyhow.

'Hug? Hutch.'

'How goes it with the curly one?' Huggy asked.

'It's gonna be a long few days for him and me. But listen Hug. Your friend, um...what's his name? The doctor?'

'Denton? Denton Amos?'

'That's the one. Can you get him over here? It looks like Carson's men worked Starsk over before they left him out to dry.'

'Shit. He needs a hospital, not some strung out quack.'

'He needs help and right now I'm not gonna be the one to take him to Memorial. Besides, he's made his feelings clear on the point. He aint goin'.'

There was a sigh down the phone. 'Leave it with me and I'll contact Dent right now. And um... good luck, you're both gonna need it.'

Within half an hour here was a surreptitious knock on the door and Hutch opened it to see Huggy and an older black man carrying an old a battered doctors case. The blond stood aside as Starsky looked up and then cast a questioning eye at his partner.

'You need medical help buddy and we couldn't very well march into the ER at Memorial, could we? Denton used to doctor for the boxers on the main circuit, till his lifestyle got out of hand. He's gonna take a look at ya.'

Starsky sighed. 'It's nuthin' he muttered sullenly.

Denton walked over to the brunet and looked down. 'Like hell it's nuthin. I can tell from here that you're hurtin' and it aint just the withdrawal.'

Starsky's head shot up. 'Who said anythin' about...'

Denton snorted and lifted the sleeve of his shirt showing calloused and ulcerated veins. 'My lifestyle got in the way a little too much for the Medical Council. I know when a Bro is hooked and I won't say a word.'

'Fine, so I'm hooked. You gonna give me some magic voodoo to make it all go away?'

'He's here to check out your guts and your shoulder' Hutch answered quickly. 'Starsk just take your shirt off and do what he man wants huh?'

Slowly the brunet did as he was told and stood stock still as the black doctor observed the bruises across his middle and the surgical wounds on his shoulder and upper back and chest.

'Can you go lie down on the bed for me?' Denton asked and Starsky nodded. For the next five or ten minutes, Amos prodded and manipulated and finally stood up straight. Hutch, hovered close to the doctors shoulder.

'Well?'

'Well I don't think he has too much internal damage other than a broken rib. As for his shoulder... Have you been getting a lot of pain?'

Starsky nodded, his eyes closed against the deep ache from his shoulder. 'It's gotten worse.'

'And you never thought to go back and get it checked out?'

'No, why?'

'Coz you seem to have been walkin' around with a dislocated shoulder, which in my opinion is gonna do more than sting a little' Denton Amos said.

'Disloca... Starsk why didn't you say somethin'?' Hutch asked.

'Dunno. It was a bullet wound. I thought it was meant to hurt.'

Denton snorted. 'Yeah, sure.'

'So what now?' Hutch asked. 'Can you do anythin'?'

'I can, but it'd be easier of he was out cold. He needs a proper doctor in a proper hospital.'

'And that aint gonna happen' Huggy said from the back of the room.

'So what?' Hutch asked. 'We just leave it?'

'Well. I can put it back, but...'

'Will it stop hurtin' Starsky asked quietly.

'Uh huh, although I aint gonna pretend it won't hurt when I do it. It's never pretty.'

Starsky sat up with difficulty. 'Do I have a choice?'

'Not unless you want to go to the proper docs and say goodbye to your job.'

The brunet ran his fingers through his hair. 'Then do it.'

Hutch knelt in front of his friend. He had some idea of what the procedure would entail and was not happy. 'Let's just take a minute and think this through huh? It's gonna hurt like hell Starsk. Maybe we should just...'

Starsky grinned wearily. 'It already hurts like hell. Call it divine retribution for me gettin' myself into his shit huh? Just do it, now, before I change my mind.'

Denton nodded. 'Hutch, stand behind him and hold him around the shoulder and chest. Huggy, stand here and held me with his arm. Starsky, when I tell you, take a deep breath and let it out nice and slow.

'Is that code for don't scream?'

Denton nodded and as everyone took their allotted positions he grasped Starsky's elbow and shoulder. 'You got it. Everyone ready? When I start I want you all to hold him still. There'll be a lot of pullin' and then... Well, let's start with the pullin' huh?'

For the next few minutes, the doctor felt his way around the damaged joint in Starsky's shoulder. Hutch and Huggy hung on as Starsky sweated and tried to relax but finally, with one brief nod, Denton grasped the brunet's wrist and elbow firmly and held his hand against Starsky's shoulder.

'This is it. Breath boy' he grunted as he pulled with practised hands against the muscles around the shoulder.

Starsky felt as though his body was on fire. The pains in his shoulder exploded into a red veil of agony and his body bucked involuntarily on the bed as Huggy and Hutch hung on grimly. There was a muffled click and Starsky screamed once and then blacked out as the doctor put the final touches to his manipulations and stood away from his patient. Hutch held on to his unconscious partner and looked up.

'Well?'

'Well it's back in the right place. I suggest we strap it there before he comes around, coz coupled with the pains he's gonna be having as he comes down, he won't want to deal with the shoulder as well.'

With a deftness born of years of practice, Denton took a bandage from his bag and strapped Starsky's arm to his chest, completing the procedure just as the brunet's eyes fluttered open again. Immediately a cramp took him and shook him and he clenched his teeth and looked up at the doctor.

'Did anyone ever tell ya you were a butcher?'

Amos grinned. 'All the time. And you're welcome.'

Huggy nodded briefly at Starsky as Amos packed away the tools of his trade. 'Be well' he said simply as the doctor walked towards the door.

'Eventually' Starsky snorted and closed his eyes. The pains were starting again, although this time they were not centred in his shoulder. That ached, but was certainly no worse and maybe a little better than it had been. The strapping holding his left arm to his chest eased some of the pressure although he felt of balance and sore. But the rest of his body was slipping down into withdrawal. Starsky felt the first tingle of the fire ants crawling through him. He felt on edge, as though he was waiting for something nasty to happen. The butterflies in his stomach seemed to be wearing boots and there was the first tell tale signs of the cramps that would shortly wrack his body.

Hutch came back into the room having shown the doctor and Huggy out and stood just inside the doorway looking over at his buddy. Starsky's hair was beginning to lie flat against his head again as the sweats started. His eyes were dull and his face pale, although some of that was certainly due to the procedure he'd just endured.

'How's it goin'?' Hutch asked.

'It's goin'.'

'You want coffee?'

'I recall askin' you the same thing a few months ago.'

The blond sighed and pulled up a chair so that he could sit opposite the brunet. Starsky fixed his partner with a look.

'How's this gonna go?'

'Not well. It gets brutal.'

Starsky snorted. 'If that's your idea of a pep talk...'

Hutch shrugged. 'You asked.'

'Ok well... I can deal.'

'Can you?'

For the first time Starsky's front of bravado left him and he shuddered, partly from memories of Hutch's withdrawal and partly from the cramp that hit him, making him feel as though his stomach was turning inside out. 'I don't know. I don't know anything any more. I thought I was the strong one. I thought I was Captain Marvel. Fuck it Hutch, I've seen the whippos on the streets. I've seen Micky and Wires and all the other addicts. I know what horse does to 'em and now... I'm so fuckin' weak. One hit. That's all it was meant to be so that Carson would let me deal. One hit to show I was a dirty cop.'

'You were hurtin' buddy.'

Starsky snorted. 'There's hurtin' and there's this. I knew the dangers and I was too bloody weak to stop.'

'But you're gonna stop now.'

'Am I?' Starsky looked down at the floor. 'I don't know if I can do this. I need to know what's gonna happen.'

'Are you sure?'

'Uh huh.'

Hutch snickered. 'Well you asked...' For the next ten minutes Hutch searched his own soul and explained to someone for the first time how he'd felt during his own withdrawal. How he'd hurt so badly; how he'd felt as though he'd have robbed his own mother for a taste of the heroin one more time, and how, at the very worst of the pains, he would gladly have killed Starsky to get out of that room for another fix. Talking about it brought back the agony of those 48 hours. It was painful for Starsky to hear, but even more painful for Hutch to relive. In the depths of the night when he couldn't sleep, his mind would sometimes go back to those two days in Huggy's room. It was the stuff of nightmares mostly because Hutch knew that he would never truly be rid of the taste for the drug now that he'd experienced it for himself.

At the end of the conversation there was silence in the room. Hutch had his eyes closed as he relived his nightmare, whilst Starsky stared fixedly at the floor, not trusting himself to let his eyes meet Hutch's.

It was the brunet who finally broke the deafening silence. 'Thanks' he said simply.

'For what? Scaring the crap out of us both?'

'For being honest. At least now I know and I need to say, before things get... well, you know... Whatever happens, whatever I do or say, I apologise in advance and...' Starsky's voice failed him. He could feel the draw of the heroin already. It weighed upon him like a lead weight. The lure of the next fix drew him towards the door just as the cramps started to bite viciously at his guts. He tried again. 'I... I just wanted to say...'

Hutch stopped him. 'I know and we'll get through this, just remember that huh?'

Minutes turned into hours as the withdrawal progressed...

**One hour in.**

_Starsky paced the room, his eyes dull pools of stormy ocean. Another cramp assaulted him and dropped him groaning to his knees. Hutch knelt by him. 'Need another coffee?'_

'_You know what I need and it aint coffee.'_

'_Have a candy bar.'_

_Starsky pushed himself up off the floor. 'And ruin my Hollywood smile? I thought it was you that needed the teeth cappin'.'_

'_You need sugar.'_

'_I need a fix.'_

_Hutch grasped his partner by the shoulders. 'No, you don't.'..._

**Five hours in.**

_Hutch held onto Starsky's shuddering body as another cramp hit him. The wall of pain had become steadily worse over the past couple of hours. Sweat poured from the brunet as he curled himself into a ball and panted past the fire in his guts._

'_Gimme one of those pills.'_

_Hutch shook his head. 'No can do Starsk. Take another drink.'_

'_I don't want to drink I need sumthin for the pain.'_

'_Not happenin'. They're the same sort of morphine shit that's in the heroin. Go and take a bath, maybe that'll help.'_

_Starsky heaved himself to his feet and stood swaying in front of his buddy. 'That's your answer? Take a bath? Wow, maybe I should have tried that one on you when you were stinkin' in Huggy's back room huh?'_

_Hutch tried to ignore the stinging words. 'Shuddup Starsk. Here, have a Twinkie.'_

**Fifteen hours in.**

_Throughout the night and into the next morning Hutch had battled constantly with the smaller man. Starsky had tried everything in his repertoire to get some drugs from Hutch. He'd pleaded, insulted, yelled and had even landed a few punches and slowly Hutch's resolve was wearing thin. What harm could a tiny amount of the drug do? It would certainly take the edge off of the worst of the pains and maybe give them a little more time._

_The blond stood wearily by the door as Starsky made another run for it._

'_You aint my keeper. Get out of the way.' The brunet snarled._

'_No.'_

_A fist crashed into the door an inch from Hutch's head and instantly the blond was transported back into his own memory. Starsky's words receded in his head as he remembered wanted to punch a hole through Starsky's own face at the height of his own withdrawal. He remembered a strong hand circling him and drawing his head down to rest against Starsky's shoulder and a soft voice telling him "We have a ways to get yet huh". But far from enforcing Hutch's resolve to help his buddy, the memory did nothing except make Hutch remember the feeling of euphoria he'd had from the heroin. It had felt so good to relinquish all the burdens of his life and simply "be"._

'_I need a walk. Just let me go for a walk. Thats' all I need' Starsky was saying as Hutch dragged his mind back to the present._

'_So you can go find a fix? No.'_

_Starsky's face turned ugly. 'So what the fuck is so bad about it huh? Tell me that. It fuckin' hurts and you're supposed to be my friend. No friend of mine leaves me feelin' like this. Just one fix. A tiny one. Not even a barrel full. Huh? Just to take the edge off. COME ON, YA YELLOW BELLIED BASTARD. Starsky yelled, inches from Hutch's face and the blond felt his temper break. He flung Starsky to one side and marched into the bedroom, picking up the syringe from the bedside table. There was still a brown residue which Hutch knew he could make into one, small fix and he stared, hypnotised at the drug._

_Should he? What harm would it do to take just a tiny hit each? Would it calm down the situation? God knows he needed something. Without thinking Hutch lit the candle and held the barrel of the syringe over it to heat the drug inside. He watched it warm and turn liquid, his eyes drawn to the hit like a moth is drawn to a flame._

_Just one fix._

_Just one tiny hit each, to ease the situation._

_The blond stirred as he felt rather than saw a movement at the side of him. 'Is there enough?' Starsky gasped hungrily._

_The need in those few words did what all the conscience in the world had failed to do. It made Hutch wake up with a jerk and stare at his hands holding the barrel of the syringe._

_What the hell was he doing? Was he still so weak himself?_

_By his side Starsky made a grab for the syringe. 'Don't let it cool too much. Just gimme...'_

_With a yell of rage Hutch broke the glass in half and stabbed the needle repeatedly into the wooden table until it bent in two. Starsky wrestled with him, trying to stop the destruction and with a snarl of anger Hutch pushed him back with such force that Starsky slammed against the wall._

'_Get the hell away from me Starsk. Get away and stay away.'_

'_You broke it' Starsky's voice held such longing that Hutch felt as though he was going to suffocate. The blond ran from the room, feeling as though his lungs would burst. He needed to get out. He wasn't strong enough for this, his own addiction too new and raw. Grabbing the keys from the table by the door, the flaxen haired cop let himself out and locked the door behind him, closing his ears to Starsky's yells._

_Hutch started to run. He ran fast, his long legs eating up the ground. He ran to escape his memories and the feeling of longing for one more taste of heroin. He ran to escape the feeling of weakness and to put the past behind him once and for all. And above all, he ran to punish his body for being so weak._

_Hutch ran as fast as he could for as long as he could. He ran until his lungs were at bursting point and then pushed himself on for a further mile, finally stopping only when the world was beginning to fade away in a red haze of pain. He had run blindly and now, as he stopped and bent double to catch his breath, he looked around an unfamiliar neighbourhood._

_The blond gasped, bending over to suck in much needed oxygen into his lungs and slowly his laboured panting calmed and he leaned against the rough stone of the nearest building, head back and eyes closed. What was he supposed to do? Who was supposed to help him and Starsky now? It had always just been the two of them, watching each other's backs and defending each other from every whippo and flake on the streets. But when the chips were down, and they were both at their most vulnerable, who was supposed to pitch in and pick up the pieces?_

_The answer slapped Hutch in the face. No-one._

_Huggy Bear had been amazing, but then again, the black man was on the fringe of the law and as he had pointed out more than once, being friends with Starsky and Hutch was seriously detrimental to business and health. No, Huggy had done more than would be expected of any friend and it was time to let him melt back into the shadows. With a sigh, Hutch came to the painful conclusion. The only ones to lean on at times like these were the only ones they'd ever truly rusted._

_Me and thee._

_And right now, the "me" part of the duo was putting as much distance as he could between him and "thee". Instantly Hutch felt bad that he'd cut and run. He was stronger than this – he had to be, for Starsky's sake. They needed each other and this time, it was Hutch that needed to be the strong one._

_So, what was he doing in a strange neighbourhood, having locked his partner into his own house? Slapping himself in the face mentally, Hutch pushed himself away from the wall and trotted back he way he'd come._

Hutch opened the door of Starsky's apartment and peered in, wondering what sort of welcome he was likely to find. Withdrawal was such an ephemeral thing. It was not easily described to one who had never experienced it and differed greatly between one man and the next. Hutch could only rely on his own recent memories to try to understand what Starsky was going through and as he opened the door, he saw his partner on the floor, curled into a foetal position with his hands wrapped around his stomach as his body shook uncontrollably. The sound of the door opening roused the brunet and he managed to look up as Hutch hunkered down by his side.

'S ssorry' Starsky managed to grind out through clenched teeth.

'So am I buddy, so am I. Want a coffee?'

'New body...need a new body.'

Hutch ran his hand through his buddy's matted curls. 'That you do, babe. Hang in there huh? Just hang in.'

Starsky closed his eyes as another cramp caught him. He couldn't describe how he felt at that moment. He hurt, for sure. His body felt as though it had done several rounds with Mohammed Ali and then gone on to run a marathon. His muscles were tight, his temperature was sky high and he saw the world through a veil of red, angry light. Most uncomfortable of all, however, was that his mind refused to accept that his was all due to the heroin. He still tried hard to silence the small voice telling him that another fix would help him and that he needn't go through all his pain. At times, Starsky felt strong enough to fight the voice, but at others, the seduction in those words was stronger than the sound of any girlfriend's voice and his weakened body could do nothing but listen...and long for escape, at whatever cost.

'I'm hangin' he mumbled as Hutch rose to get another coffee. Minutes later the blond held a cup of the black brew for Starsky to take, but instead of reaching for it, the smaller man backed away. Even the smell of the coffee knocked him sick and he fought the urge to slap it from Hutch's hand.

'Can't' he muttered.

'It'll do you good. It'll take the edge of the cramps.'

''nother fix would do that.'

'Yeah, and another fix would mean you'd start right back at the beginning. There's no easy way to do this Starsk, you just gotta ride with it.'

Hutch's words were meant to be soothing, encouraging. Instead they grated on Starsky's jangling nerves and made him feel suffocated. 'What if I don't want to huh? What if I like the stuff? Did ya think of that? Did you think that maybe your squeaky clean partner might just want a bit of fun once in a while?'

'You can have fun, just not chemical fun.'

Starsky got to his knees and snorted. 'Yeah, right. Driving around in a rusted old heap of car with you all day, listening to some voice on a radio telling us where to be and when to be. Is that what this is all about? Coz if it is, then, let me tell you it aint enough.'

'Starsky shuddup and drink the coffee huh? We can talk about career decisions later, when...'

'When what? When I've cleaned up my act?' Starsky's words fuelled his own anger. Whilst Hutch had been out, he'd felt small and vulnerable and would have given anything to have the blond back in the room with him, and yet now he felt claustrophobic and unable to breathe. He lurched to his feet, gasping at another cramp and made a run for the door. Hutch put himself between the brunet and his escape route, bracing himself as Starsky rushed him.

'I need to get out. I need to walk, or run, or drive. I'll be back, I promise.'

Hutch sighed, struggling with his partner. 'You're goin' nowhere.'

With a snarl Starsky launched himself at Hutch, his right shoulder ploughing into the blond's midriff and expelling the breath from his body in an audible gasp. 'Get out of my way before I knock you out of the way. You aint my keeper.'

'I'm your friend.'

'Then fuckin' well act like one' Starsky yelled and launched a frenzied attack against the blond.

'Starsky don't do this. Stop, I don't want to hurt ya.' Hutch parried with his fists and feet.

'Get outa my way.'

'Back off Starsk' Hutch snapped, trying to side step but an especially vicious blow knocked him against the wooden door frame, blacking him out for a few seconds. It was all Starsky needed and without a second look opened the door and set off down the steps two at a time. Mindlessly he ran whilst in the house Hutch slumped against the open doorway, dazed and dizzy.

Starsky ran down his steps and skidded to a halt in front of Hutch's car. Somehow, even in his crazed state he drew the line at driving the rust bucket and instead, he ducked around the side of it, swung his leg over the Harley still parked outside and with difficulty started the engine. It was tough to balance and steer with his left arm bandaged against his chest, but somehow he managed to get underway and once he'd established his balance, he set of down Ridgeway in a spray of gravel and dirt.

Back at the apartment, Hutch roused himself from his daze and used his hands to lever himself up against the wooden door frame. Dizzily he probed the back of his head feeling the burgeoning lump that seemed as big as a golf ball. His thought process was slowed by the headache and it wasn't for a few moments that he suddenly realised that the house was empty and that Starsky had gone.

The blond cursed long and hard and looked down the steps. Seeing his car there gave him hope that Starsky had not gone too far, however as he allowed his eyes to rove further, he realised that the beautiful bike had gone. Instinctively he knew what his partner had done.

So, where would Starsky go? Where would someone so on the edge go to find what he needed? Which dealer would the brunet search out, and where would he find them?

Desperately, Hutch stumbled to the phone and jabbed the buttons, dialling the number from memory. Within three rings the phone picked up and a familiar voice answered.

'Huggy Bear's alcoholic beverage establishment, come and dine, the pleasure's mine but you can pay the bill.'

'It's Hutch.'

'Hutch my man. How's the patient?'

'Gone.'

Huggy's voice took on a more serious note. 'Gone where? When?'

'I was hopin' you could tell me. Things got a little um...tense. We had a disagreement and he took off.' Hutch said trying to hide the desperation in his voice.

'Disagreement as in... Are you hurt?'

Hutch snickered. 'More my pride than anythin'. Is he there?'

'Uh uh, but give him time. He tried to score here before, so maybe...'

'I'll be right there' Hutch snapped and replaced the phone, already running for the

door.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 24**

Starsky drove like his life depended on it. In fact it felt like his life depended on it, the "it" being his next fix. The day had passed in a blaze of pain, cramps and a urgent need to lose himself once again in the arms of morphius. What had started out as discomfort had quickly turned to pain and to begin with Starsky had courageously thought he could deal with the withdrawal. As time wore on, however, his body let him know in no uncertain terms that he not only craved the heroin, he needed it so that by the time Hutch had returned to Ridgeway, the brunet was literally out of his mind with need. Now, Starsky's mind was filled with one thought and he knew exactly where he could go for his cravings to be fulfilled. He turned the bike down a side street and drew to a halt outside a blue painted door.

The small reception area of the women's refuge was quiet and as the handsome curly haired man walked in, the woman behind the desk looked up and smiled.

'Well, Detective Starsky. What can we do for you?'

Starsky plunged his hand into his pocket to stop it from shaking and plastered a smile onto his face. 'Muriel, hey. You have a new girl here. Um...Tammy?'

The woman nodded. 'She came in yesterday.'

'I need to speak with her. Which room is she in?'

Muriel's face fell. 'If she's in some kind of trouble...'

'No. No trouble hon. I just need to talk.'

With a nod Muriel looked down her register. 'Room 6, down the hall on the right. Go right on down.'

Pausing only to smile his thanks, Starsky walked swiftly down the hall and knocked on the brown painted door with the brass number 6 on it. Checking up and down the corridor, he knocked on the door, waited a second and knocked again, his heart hammering against his ribs as the sweat prickled across the bridge of his nose. For what seemed like an hour Starsky waited and then the door opened and Tammy stood silhouetted in the doorway.

'Well hi there' Tammy said as she recognised the handsome cop.

'Hi. Can I come in?'

Something in the dull, listless eyes alerted Tammy to Starsky's problem and she opened the door wider and stood to one side as Starsky walked into the small room. He sat down, stood up and started to pace.

'Are you in trouble?' Tammy asked quietly.

'Trouble? No. I just thought we could um...we could, well... You said the other day you wanted some fun and maybe to share a little um...'

'You want a hit?'

Starsky turned, his eyes searching the girls face. 'I'll pay.'

Tammy shook her head. 'I don't want your money. But I do want to help.'

'Do you have anything?'

'How long has it been?' Tammy asked.

'I'm not...I don't need... I just thought maybe we could...'Starsky let his eyes dart around the room.

'I don't have any. I said I was gonna go straight and I am.'

'That's great...great. But um...' The brunet doubled as another cramp hit him and as he gasped, he felt an arm around his shoulders. Tammy had watched as Starsky had started the long path down towards addiction and something in her had snapped. She'd seen a clean and respectable man turn in the space of a week into the person now in her room. Starsky had lost weight, his hair was unkempt and he had a wasted, hunted look to his face. The girl had seen it all before and for some reason, her heart rebelled against seeing Starsky join the ranks of the addicts on the streets.

Gently Tammy eased the cop onto a chair and grasped his hands. 'I don't have any here, but I can get some. Give me half an hour huh? Will you wait here?'

'For you? Sure.'

Tammy got to her feet. 'Don't go away' she said and kissed Starsky on the top of his head. She felt his body shaking against her and it strengthened her resolve. 'Be right back' she whispered and closed the door behind her.

Hutch pushed his way into the Pits and made a bee line for the bar. As he threaded his way through the crowd, Huggy's eyes sought him out.

'Have you seen him?' Hutch asked as he drew nearer.

'Uh uh. The curly one hasn't put in an appearance but I do have something. Remember the girl?'

'The one you said was hangin' around him?'

'One and the same. Her name is Tammy and I just got off of the phone with her. Seems our mutual friend made a house call lookin' for another hit.'

'Did he score?' Hutch asked, thinking that if Starsky was lying stoned somewhere at least he wouldn't be in a state to run.

'No, he didn't score, but he asked Tammy to get him a fix.'

'The bitch!'

Huggy's face creased. 'Hey, don't go callin' the girl till you hear me out. She made up some story and sold it to Starsky to keep him there then she called me to tell me he was in trouble. Your bitch is an angel in ragged clothes.'

Hutch felt a wash of relief flood through him. 'When did she call? Where is he?'

'About five minutes ago, and she's at the women's refuge on fifty fourth. She told me she was gonna keep him there until I got through to you.'

'I'm on my way and thanks Hug. Um... how's she gonna keep Starsk there if he's so strung out?'

Huggy put on his best innocent look. 'She's a hooker. I'm sure she has her ways.'

Hutch snorted. 'My god. Even when he's in trouble Starsky comes up smellin' of roses!'

Starsky paced the small room feeling like a caged lion. The itchy feeling in his guts was interspersed with the cramps and his shirt clung to his body as the sweat poured from him. Angrily he took the bandages off from his chest. They made him hotter and made his skin crawl. With the confining stapping he was unable to breathe.

Did he trust Tammy?

The answer was no. Right at that moment Starsky trusted no-one, not even Hutch. The blond had left him to his own devices and then had come back and tortured him by keeping him away from the one thing that eased his pain. Tammy had said she was going to get him some stuff, but she seemed to have been gone for at least a hundred years and meanwhile, he, Starsky, hurt.

There was a small sound at the door and the brunet flinched and looked up. The handle on the door turned and instinctively Starsky went for the gun that habitually swung beneath his right arm. The hand came away empty and Starsky stood, swaying slightly as Tammy came into the room. Hungry eyes searched her for signs of syringes or packages. The hungry eyes saw nothing and Starsky looked angrily at her.

'Did you get it?' he asked, hoping he didn't sound as needy as he felt.

'It's coming lover. I had to phone to get you what you need. It'll be here soon' Tammy said, artfully dodging the question whilst avoiding an outright lie.

'Soon? How soon? You said you could get...'

The girl crossed the room and put her arms around the tall cop, holding his shaking body to hers. Gently she guided him to the bed and Starsky allowed her to push him down onto the mattress. 'Ssh. It's ok' Tammy said softly, dotting chocolate coloured curls with small kisses. She held Starsky's face between her hands and wiped away the beads of sweat with her thumbs. 'It's gonna be fine, lie back huh?'

Starsky looked up at the girl. They'd been this way before. The place was different, but his need was still the same. Perversely, Starsky craved sex almost as much as he craved the drug and with his body hurting from the withdrawal, his mind was at an all time low and his resistance was even lower. Hungrily he pulled Tammy down until he could ravage her mouth with his. He kissed her as though she was his food, devouring her as Tammy pressed her own body against his, running her finger nails down his back. Starsky's spine bowed and he felt an urgent pressure against the front of his jeans, seeking escape. He rolled onto his back, pulling the girl with him until she was laid against his belly, her small breasts pressing against his chest.

'Make love to me?' he asked huskily.

Tammy smiled at him. 'Are you asking me, or telling me?'

'Tellin'. Askin'. I dunno. My head isn't right. I'm...askin'? I need sumthin. I need you. It hurts so goddamn much...' There was a longing in the brunet's voice that tore at Tammy's heart and she bent down and kissed the curly haired man tenderly on the lips silencing his ramblings.

'It wasn't too long ago that you were refusing my advances.'

'That was before...'

'So, what's changed?'

Starsky's hands roamed over Tammy's body, holding her close. 'Me. Life. Different values? God I dunno.'

'I do. You're hooked and you can't get away and it scares you.'

'I aint scared.'

'Yes, you are. Anyone would be, but I can help.'

Starsky thrust his groin up at her, pulling her closer against him. 'I know you can.'

As if on cue there was a knock on the door and Starsky flinched. 'Delivery?' he asked hungrily.

'Help' Tammy replied and got off the bed, disentangling herself from Starsky's arms with a struggle. The brunet watched as she opened the door stood aside. Framed in the light from the hallway stood deliverance dressed in brown jeans and a green tee shirt.

Starsky got up from the bed angrily. 'What the fuck?'

'I could say the same thing. Starsk what the hell are you doin' here?' Hutch asked, walking cautiously into the room.

Starsky whirled on the girl. 'This is your idea of help?'

'You needed him.'

'I needed him like toothache. You know what I need.'

'But you've come so far and I can't let you go back. You helped me, now let me help you.'

Hutch nodded. 'This is the worst part buddy. Get over the rest of the day and by tomorrow it'll start to ease.' Tammy listened to the words and wondered. What did the handsome blond have to hide? He spoke as one who knows for certain what he was talking about and yet he too was a cop. Was the whole of the BCPD hooked?

'Yeah, like you're the fuckin' expert' Starsky snapped, heading for the door. Hutch put out a hand and this time stopped Starsky in his tracks, no longer careful of the smaller man's injuries. Starsky tried to wrestle himself away but Hutch hung on, struggling hard to contain the curly haired hellion.

'Starsky shuddup and listen to yourself. It'll get easier, you just gotta fight harder.'

'I am fightin' but I'm sick of it. I can't fight it any more. Just one more fix. One more and then I'll start again. That's all I wanted. One more shot. The butcher put my shoulder back in without even a bullet to bite on. I need sumthin to stop the pain.'

'You need rest, and coffee.'

'I need you to leave me alone. You aint my keeper.' Starsky managed to wrench his arm from Hutch's grip and make a run for it. Hutch was ready this time and as Tammy stood back, the blond cop launched himself at his partner in a tackle a footballer would have been proud of. He managed to catch hold of Starsky's foot and brought the brunet down to the ground with a thud. Snarling, Starsky rolled over and struck out at his friend, his mind fixed on one thing, and one thing only.

Hutch caught Starsky's fist in his and fought hard to gain the upper hand. He rolled them both over until he was above Starsky, straddling the smaller man with his arm across Starsky's throat pinning him to the ground.

'Fine. Fight me if that's what you need to do. Let it out, but you're goin' nowhere.'

Starsky's eyes bored into Hutch's, inches away from him. In those eyes he saw nothing but compassion and care and yet those were the very things that made him feel cornered and vulnerable. With a yell, Starsky started to fight all over again, his body writhing beneath Hutch's as he fought for freedom. With gritted teeth, Hutch hung on doggedly, dodging blows and anchoring Starsky down until finally, panting and exhausted the brunet's struggles subsided. For a full minute the two men stared at each other and finally Hutch broke the silence.

'We need to get out of here.'

'I don't...'

'I don't care what you want buddy. This time we do it my way. Do we do this? Or do I take you to the nearest dealer and watch you throw away your life once and for all?'

Starsky was quiet and for a moment Hutch thought that the brunet was sincerely thinking of taking the latter option but finally Starsky nodded his head once. A hundred years later Starsky finally let his head fall back and he closed his eyes against the pain.

'Help me' he whispered.

'You asked me to do that before.'

'I don't know how you got through this. Maybe you're stronger'n me. Help me...please?'

Carefully Hutch stood up and held out a hand to haul Starsky to his feet. The brunet stood swaying and looking around him.

'We're goin' away for a while. Somewhere you won't be tempted.'

'But I...'

Tammy stepped in for the first time taking Starsky's hand in hers and looking up into his eyes. 'Do as your friend says huh? It'll be easier on the both of you.'

'But what about you? What about...' Tammy put her fingers against the brunet's lips.

'Ssh, I'll be fine. You'd never have fallen for a girl like me before. Go get yourself together and be well huh?'

Reluctantly Starsky looked over at Hutch. 'When?' he asked.

'No time like the present buddy.'

'I know you're idea of gettin' away. Bugs, cold, wet, tents...'

The blond smiled. 'Not this time. Say goodbye, we're goin' on a retreat.'

Starsky took Tammy in his arms. His body still shook and he still felt the pull of the cravings and yet now, for some reason, he felt marginally calmer. He kissed the girl on the lips and pulled away.

'Thank you' he said simply before turning and walking out of the room. The sentiment seemed inadequate and yet Starsky could think of nothing else to say.

'Take care of him, he's a special kind guy' Tammy told Hutch as he turned to follow.

'I know that, and I will.'

Hutch got to the door and was about to close it behind him when Tammy called him back.

'You really don't trust anyone – the two of you, do you?'

Hutch stopped and considered for a moment. 'Yeah. At the end of the day, we trust. We trust each other and that's all we need.'

Epilogue.

The two men sat on the porch step of the cabin looking out over the Mojave desert. Now that the fierce heat of the day had passed the cool desert breeze ruffled chocolate curls and flaxen bangs. Both Hutch and Starsky showed the signs of their ten day retreat in the sun with Hutch's golden tan and Starsky's deeper, olive tones. The brunet had put a little weight back on and had battled through the worst of the withdrawal with his partner at his side. It had, indeed been easier to deal with his cravings whilst he was miles from nowhere in any direction and he was now coming to terms with his addiction. The haunted, hunted look was finally leaving his eyes and Starsky's sense of humour was returning slowly.

As the last rays of the sun caught the clouds hovering over the distant mountains, sending golden shadows dancing across the sandy valley Hutch rose stiffly from his seat and placed his bottle of beer on the floor.

'Supper time. Anything you have a taste for?'

'Is that a loaded question?' Starsky asked with the shadow of a grin.

'It just so happens that I have a culinary treat for you tonight. As a kinda celebration for our last night out here.'

'Don't tell me. Not your Paul Munni special.'

Hutch frowned. 'And what's the matter with my Mom's favourite dish?'

'Nothin.'

'As it happens, it's even better than that' Hutch declared.

'Wow, I can't wait.'

The blond opened the door to the cabin and came back with a tray covered with a cloth. With a flourish he removed the cover and laid the tray by his partner. 'Dish of the day. We have a choice of chilli or linguini with...'

Starsky stood up and backed away from the tray as though it might bite him.

'You know what you can do with all things Italian?'

'Hey, you love Italian food. You said your Grandma...'

'Linguini with clams? Are you tryin' to kill me?'

'Huh?'

'As I recall that's how this all started. Veal Piccada or... You can stick your linguini, from now on it's burritos all the way and since the nearest burger stand is 100 miles away, I'm gonna scramble us up some eggs.'

2nd epilogue (the last bit)

Huggy Bear stood at the door to the Pits. Above his head a banner proclaimed "Thursday night special – topless bar staff for one night only". The place was heaving and inside the bar was three deep in customers.

Starsky mumbled a curse and turned around to yell at his partner.

'What made ya agree?'

'To this? We owe Huggy big time. It was the least we could do.'

'He's having the last laugh ya know.'

'Starsk, shuddup and take that tray of drinks huh?' Hutch muttered.

One by one the two cops picked up a full tray of beers each and walked out from behind the bar, bare chested and wearing tight black pants.

As one of the women pinched Starsky butt none too gently the brunet whirled and glared at his partner.

'Let me remind you buddy. The next time we need help, you don't tell Huggy you'll do anything to repay him, huh?'


End file.
